


and i will stumble and fall (i'm still learning to love)

by lucylikestowrite



Series: after this life, i'll find you in the next [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Kid Fic, Slow Burn, vague no magic sq au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 66,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucylikestowrite/pseuds/lucylikestowrite
Summary: The child smiles, and there's something familiar about it. Something that makes Sara’s stomach turn.“I'm your daughter.”“No, you're not,” Sara says, and before she knows what she's doing, she's slamming the door shut, her breathing heavy.or: Sara gave up a baby almost ten years ago. Ava adopted her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodydifficult](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodydifficult/gifts).



> hello from another fic that was meant to be a 10k twoshot and became a 60k 7 chapters and an epilogue multi-chapter. 
> 
> title is from say something by a great big world and credit for the title 100% goes to strangesmallbard on tumblr whose [sq playlist](http://strangesmallbard.tumblr.com/post/159600905978/ai-have-a-spotify-playlist-goin-rn-called-swan) i stole the title from
> 
> also I haven't watched the first season of ouat in like five years this is not supposed to be accurate in any way I'm just going off what I remember

Having your birthday on Christmas is bad. Having your birthday on Christmas when you haven't seen any of your family since they basically disowned you for getting sent to prison is even worse.

It wasn't really surprising. Sara had run off with Oliver, stealing her sister’s boyfriend in the process, and had then let him convince her that making off with a yacht and then trashing it was a good idea. Her sister is a lawyer. Her dad is a detective. She would've done the same, would've reacted the same way too, if she'd been in their position.

It just sucks.

Distance from them doesn't make it much better. It's been ten years, three of them in jail, seven of them out, and she really does get why they did it. She had been young, and stupid.

And, if she wanted, she could probably go back, now.But something always stops her, so she stays, where she is, in self-imposed exile, alone on her birthday and on Christmas.

Usually flat out drunk, because it's the only day of the year she lets herself have off completely. Christmas is the one day where she can indulge properly in the expensive whiskey that she keeps stashed away where any who might happen to be in her flat won't find it.

She learnt to hide it away after she had woken up one morning to find the girl she had brought home the previous night mainlining it.

But she only lets herself truly let loose for a day. The next day, she drags herself out of bed, downs two strong coffees, and is back to work.

 

Two weeks pass, much the same. Work, more work, more work. Much of the same, a rotating door of criminals, the norm for her life.

The day everything changes is much the same. She opens her laptop, and there's a message from her mark. They'd arranged to meet today, and he still seems into it, so that makes things easier. All she has to do is make sure she has all the paperwork, and then she's ready. There's no reason to believe it won't go well. From the looks of him, and from everything she has learnt researching him, even if he tries to fight, it's doubtful it will go well for him. He looks a bit weedy. She’s anything but.

Years in prison with not much else to do had meant she'd gotten pretty adept at fighting, had gotten in shape pretty quickly. When you were new, just transferred from a different prison, small, and people found out you were in there for something as stupid as trashing a yacht, it made you a target.

With a little help (from a girlfriend who’d been in there for something much worse than theft and property damage), she’d soon stopped being a target.

So she doesn't have any particular worries about that evening, and, when it comes to it, she's proven right. He's as taken in by her small frame and tiny dress as every single other man she ever has to bring in is. When he realises what's happening, it's not hard to subdue him.

She doesn't use the gun she has in her purse, but she makes sure he knows it's there.

And then she is done, back at her apartment, half a glass of the cheap whiskey the only celebration she allows herself. Christmas was weeks ago. Today is just another day.

Or, at least, it's just another day until there is a knock on her door. She's immediately wary. She hasn't invited anyone. She hasn't ordered anything. Occasionally, she's had visits from perps who were mad at her. She'd packed the guy from tonight off to the local jail, but there's always a chance that he knew someone. She looks through the peephole, and she can't see anyone.

Until she looks down, and, from the angle, can just about see a blonde head.

She yanks open the door, and there is a small child standing there. A girl. Maybe eight or nine. Sara's not good at figuring out how old kids are. She tries her best to avoid them, most of the time. For all she knows, this child could actually be a teenager.

“Sara Lance?” the girl asks, and Sara was probably right with the first guess, because her voice is too high and childlike for her to be any older than 10.

Sara frowns, looking down at her, crossing her arms. “Maybe. Who's asking?”

“Me.”

Are all kids this annoying?

“Yeah, I can see that, kid. Who are you?”

The child smiles, and there's something familiar about it. Something that makes Sara’s stomach turn.

“I'm your daughter.”

“No, you're not,” Sara says, and before she knows what she's doing, she's slamming the door shut, her breathing heavy.

“I'm still here,” comes the kid’s voice, slightly muffled. “You're going to have to let me in at some point.”

“No, I'm not.”

“I'm your child. You have to. That's the rules.”

“I don't have a kid.”

(She does, she does have a kid, but she's ignored that for almost ten years, and she can keep ignoring that, if she really tries.)

“Yes you do. It's me.”

Sara takes a breath, leaning up against the door, and then opens it again. That smile breaks on the girl’s face again, that smile that Sara is refusing to identify.

“I'm not letting you in because I believe you. I'm letting you in because it's eleven at night, this part of town is terrible, and you're like _eight.”_

“I'm nine,” the girl says, pushing past Sara. Of course she's nine. “And also your daughter.”

“Uh huh,” Sara says, her arms still crossed, watching the girl as she makes her way across the room, before settling on Sara’s couch. “Sure you are.”

The girl looks around, swinging her legs. On her back is backpack almost as big as she is. “Nice place.”

“No, it's not,” Sara says. Someone has taught this girl too many manners, because her place is horrible. Not dirty, really, but spartan, utilitarian. Not homely. She's reluctant to get closer, but feels like she should. She compromises by sitting on the chair furthest away from the kid.

The kid obviously registers this. She narrows her eyes. “You _are_ Sara Lance, right?”

Sara sighs, giving in. “Yes. And you are?” The girl opens her mouth to speak, and Sara interrupts. “Apart from ‘my daughter.’ What's your name?”

“Charlotte.”

“Charlotte what?”

“Sharpe. Charlotte Sharpe.”

“And you think you're my kid because?”

“I found my birth certificate. And your name is on it. So like, unless there was another Sara Lance who gave birth in prison in Star City in 2008, I'm your daughter.” As she speaks, she pulls something out of her backpack.

It's the birth certificate, the one Sara had signed almost ten years ago, in prison. It doesn't have Charlotte’s name on it, because Sara hadn't named her that. She was just Baby Lance on it. But, clipped to it are the adoption papers, and, clear as day, she can see Charlotte’s name.

“Fuck,” Sara says, because she can't ignore it anymore, not with that sort of evidence in front of her. But, really, all she needed was a good look at Charlotte's face to know the truth. “Fucking hell.”

Charlotte blinks. “My mom doesn't like it when people swear around me.”

“Yeah, well, the baby I gave away just turned up on my doorstep so—” Sara stops, suddenly registering what Charlotte had just said, her mind fitting things together. “Wait. Do your parents know you're here?”

It's a stupid question. It's practically the middle of the night, and Charlotte is alone. Of course her parents don't know she's here. Either that, or they’re really, really irresponsible.

“No dad. Just me and mom. And, no, she doesn't strictly know that I'm here, but she gave me permission to find you.”

“She said you could come here? Alone?” Sara asks, incredulous.

“I mean… Not expressly. She said I could look you up. And she never said I _couldn't_ come see you when I found you, so I figured, why not?”

God. That sounds exactly like something Sara would do.“Where do you live?”

“Starling. It's outside Star City. I got two buses and then a train to get here.”

“You're a day’s drive away from home, kid. You need to go back. Now.”

“Not without you,” Charlotte says, crossing her arms, stubborn, and the gesture, the expression is familiar.

Partly because it looks like her. Partly because it looks like Oliver. Not that she'd ever say that. She'd never said who the father was, hadn't wanted her kid to go right back into his hands, the same hands that had gotten her in prison. His name isn’t even on the birth certificate.

Sara rolls her eyes. “Obviously I'm coming with you.”

Charlotte’s eyes light up.

“Don't get excited. I'm just taking you back to your mom, because no way am I letting you go back alone, and then I'm going.” She pauses. “Does she know _anything_ about where you are?”

“I left a note.”

Sara had left a note when she'd run off with Ollie. It hadn't gone well.

“Do you have a phone?” Sara asks.

Charlotte shakes her head. “Mom doesn't think nine-year-olds need them.”

“Mom is right. Usually,” Sara says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “But right now you need to call her.” She pauses. “You know your number, right?”

Charlotte nods, then recites it without missing a beat.

“Call her. Tell her I'm bringing you back. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

Taking the phone, Charlotte wanders away, dialling. “Hi, Mom…” Charlotte trails off, and Sara can almost hear the yelling from the other end of the line. When Charlotte can finally get a word in, her voice is guilty. “I’m fine, mom. I'm sorry. I had to… No, I couldn't just call. I had to see her.” Charlotte glances over at Sara. “She looks like me. Like really looks like me. Not like—” Charlotte cuts herself off, and Sara winces. That's gotta be a sore subject. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you I found her, but you wouldn't have approved.” Charlotte lowers her voice. “She had me in _prison_ … Sara Lance.”

Sara winces again. She's easily googleable. Ollie’s notoriety in Star City meant his arrest, and, by proxy, hers, had been widely publicised. This woman is going to know all the worst highlights of Sara’s life in five minutes. It's a good thing she's just planning on dropping Charlotte off and leaving, because she doubts she's making a good first impression.

“You want to talk to her? Okay.”

All of a sudden, Charlotte is walking back towards her, holding the phone out.

Sara doesn't want to, but she has to. She knows that. “Hi. Sara Lance speaking.”

“Is Charlotte okay?” The woman’s voice is frantic. “She said she was but I don't know what to believe. I've been so— fuck I think I've got about fifteen minutes of sleep in the past two days. Fucking hell. I’ve been calling everyone I could think of, but I had no idea where she had gone. She just said she was finding her birth mom. Fuck. I didn’t even know whether she was planning on coming back.” She sounds close to tears, her voice almost cracking. She takes a breath. “Is she okay?” she asks, for the second time, because she hadn't given Sara a chance to answer the first time.

She's talking so fast that Sara can hardly get a word in until she raises her voice. “Yes. She's fine. All in one piece.” She pauses, realising she doesn't know the woman’s name. “I'm sorry. She hasn't told me your name.”

“Ava.”

“Okay, Ava. Don’t worry. I'm bringing her home.”

“You don't have to do that.” Ava’s voice is firm. “I can come get her.”

Sara shakes her head, then realises Ava can't see it. “It's fine. My job is… irregular. I can do this.”

Ava lets out a breath, obviously considering. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“How far away are you?” Apparently it’s twenty questions. From anyone else, Sara wouldn’t keep playing

“Coast City. It's a day’s drive. I'll have her back tomorrow evening.”

“If you don't, I can make life difficult for you. I have connections.” Ava’s voice has turned from worried to commanding, almost confrontational. Sara would usually take offense at the tone, but Ava has a right to be stressed.

“I'll have her back, promise. And I’ll keep in touch.”

This seems to placate Ava. “Okay. Thank you.” She sighs. “Can you hand me back to her. Please?” She adds, almost an afterthought.

“Sure.”

Sara hands it back. Charlotte takes it, starts talking again, her voice rushed. After a while, Sara stops listening, just watches her. It's painfully obvious that they're related. Her hair is the same colour as Sara’s, and so are her eyes. Her nose and mouth are slightly different, but there's a dimple on her chin that is unmistakably Sara’s. It's a little like looking in a mirror. A mirror that terrifies Sara.

She wasn't cut out for this. Even from a brief conversation, Sara can tell Ava is eminently more suitable for this. Ava, with her authoritative voice that shone through even while worried, with her commanding tone and thinly veiled threats if Sara doesn’t get her kid back in time.

Even later, Sara looks at her watch, and realises that it's past midnight. “Hang up, kid. We’re leaving early. You need to sleep.”

Charlotte looks over at her, then says goodbye, before dropping the phone back into her hand.

“Okay— Wait.” Charlotte pauses. “What do I call you?”

“Just Sara.”

“Not m—”

“ _Not_ mom. I'm not your mom. Ava is.”

Thankfully, Charlotte doesn't argue, just looks around. “Okay, _Sara_ , where am I sleeping?”

Sara is about to offer her bed, and then she realises that she hasn't washed the sheets in weeks, definitely not since she's had multiple people between them. She's not rocking up to Ava ‘I have connections’ Sharpe’s house having let her daughter sleep in a bed that Sara’s had sex in. More than a few times.

“Couch. It pulls out.”

Charlotte smiles. “Cool.” She's excited for this in the way only children are, where sleeping on a pull out bed is some sort of thrill, like this is a sleepover and she hasn't just run away hundreds of miles from home. “Bathroom?” she asks. Sara points the way. She disappears, and a couple of minutes later is back, changed into a matching set of pyjamas. It’s cute. By the time she's back, Sara has the bed out.

“We’re leaving early. Don't stay up,” Sara says, and that's the most mothering she's going to do. If the kid wants to stay up, she's not going to go out of her way to stop her.

As it turns out, she doesn't need to worry. Charlotte gets under the covers, and is out like a light. She looks peaceful. Innocent. Childlike. Sara is glad she isn't the one who’d raised her. She know that isn't how she would've turned out if she'd had Sara for a mother.

Sleep doesn't come as easily to Sara as it does to Charlotte. It never does.

Eventually, some time around two, she drifts off, and is woken up at six thirty by Charlotte running into her room. For a second, she doesn't remember the previous night’s events, and then they come rushing back to her, overwhelming in their hugeness.

Charlotte is dressed, and, by the looks of things, all ready to go.

“I thought you said we were leaving early. This is early. Mom is always up before six.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not mom,” Sara says, bleary. “And, f— flipping hell kid, I could've been naked in here.”

“Well, you're not. So it's fine.”

Sara struggles up, walks into the kitchen, makes herself a coffee. Charlotte follows her. When there is caffeine in her system, when she feels a bit more awake, she turns to look at the kid at her side.

“Gimme half an hour. Then we go.”

Sara turns to get ready, then realised Charlotte probably needs food. Sara never usually eats in the morning; she's not used to having to think about the needs of anyone but herself, and so she'd almost forgotten that Charlotte might want to eat. She leans up, opens a cupboard, pulls out a bowl and a couple of boxes of cereal.

“Eat. Milk is in the fridge.”

Charlotte looks at the boxes. “Do you have anything else?”

Every other word out of her mouth is cheeky. Sara hates how much of herself she can see in her, despite being raised by someone else for nine years. “No. That's what I have. You don't get to rock up at my door in the middle of the night and then complain about the cereal selection.”

Sara moves to walk away, and Charlotte pipes up. “You’re not eating?”

“I don’t do breakfast, kid.”

“Breakfast is the—” Charlotte begins to recite, and Sara cuts her off.

“I don’t care. I’m not eating. You have to, though. I’m not bringing you back starving."

When Sara is ready, twenty minutes later, Charlotte has finished eating, and has even washed up the bowl. _That_ definitely isn't Sara’s influence. Charlotte hands her a paper bag.

“What's this?”

“I made us lunch.”

“You made us lunch?” Sara asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.” Charlotte looks at Sara’s bag. “Are you ready?”

Sara looks down, mentally running through the list of things she needs. She's planning on finding a motel somewhere on the way back, because no way is she driving to Star City and back in one day, so there's a change of clothes in there. She nods. “Yep. Lets go, kid. Let’s get you back to your mom.” Sara grabs a leather jacket from the rack by her door, and is out in the hallway before she realises Charlotte isn’t with her. She’s still in the apartment, looking at her.

“What are you waiting for? You don’t want to go back?”

“Are you going to just drop me off and I’m never going to hear from you again?”

“That’s a big question for seven in the morning.”

Charlotte doesn’t budge.

Sara sighs. “I can’t promise anything.” She hardly _wants_ to promise anything, but Charlotte is looking at her, her eyes wide, and Sara feels bad. She gives in, a little. “But I can give you my phone number. Anything else needs to be talked through with your mom.”

Charlotte still isn’t moving.

“Kid. We need to get moving. I told you mom I’d have you back today.”

“I put all this effort in to find you, Sara. I don’t want to lose you again.”

 _You can’t lose something you never had, something you were never supposed to have_ , Sara thinks, but she doesn’t say it. “I’m not that special. I’m a mess. You don’t want me. You’ll figure that out. You’re not going to want more than a phone call every so often once you’ve spent a day in a car with me.”

It’s almost like Charlotte takes this as a challenge, because then she moves, following Sara out of the apartment. “I’ll decide that, not you.”

Sara raises an eyebrow, but if it’s going to get Charlotte in the car, she’ll take it. Downstairs, out of her building, Sara heads towards her car, and Charlotte eyes it. “That’s your car?”

And, sure, it’s a little rundown, but it drives.

“No,” Sara says, drily. “It’s my time machine... Let me guess, your mom’s car is fancier?”

Charlotte shrugs. “I mean… slightly.”

“This is all I’ve got, so it’s that or walking. You make your decision.”

It’s Charlotte’s turn to roll her eyes, and make her way to the passenger side, before looking at Sara, pointedly. “You going to unlock it?”

Sara does, and, a couple of minutes later, they’re on the road. Sara fumbles around in her jacket, finding her phone, and swiping it open.

Charlotte eyes her. “You’re not supposed to text and drive.”

“Your mom tell you that?”

She nods.

“Your mom sounds boring.” Charlotte is still staring at her, so she chucks the phone her way. “Fine. You do it. Text her. Or call her, if you want. Tell her we’re on our way.”

Charlotte, Sara notices, texts, and then she’s back to staring at her.

“You want something?”

“Tell me about you.”

 Sara takes a breath, blinks. “Not much to tell. Dropped out of college after one semester. Ran away with your dad, he got me into a crappy situation, got sent to prison. Got disowned. Realised I was pregnant, had you, got transferred to a new prison. Fell in love—”

“In prison?” Charlotte asks, her forehead screwed up, obviously realising that that doesn’t quite work, not if Sara was straight.

Sara swears internally. She hadn't meant to drop that, and she’s got no idea how you’re supposed to come out to your _kid_. If she’d been thinking straight, she wouldn’t have mentioned Nyssa at all. She decides to just go for simple. She doesn’t look at Charlotte, just looks straight ahead, at the road, when she says, “I’m bi, kid. Fell in love with a girl in there. It didn’t last. I got out. She didn’t. Now I’m a bounty hunter. Send other people to prison That’s pretty much it.”

It’s slightly scary that the last ten years of her life can be summed up so quickly, but that really is all there is to it.

“Oh,” Charlotte says. “Cool.”

“Cool?” Sara says. “That’s it?”

She almost hopes that Charlotte has just skated over the whole sexuality thing, but then Charlotte replies. “Mom’s gay." Sara's heart does some sort of flip, something it certainly shouldn't be doing. "Or, at least, I think she is. She’s never specifically said it. She always tells people she’s ‘not the husband kind.’ She’s never had a boyfriend, but one time she went on vacation to Vegas and came back with all these stories about a girl called Alison. I kinda assumed. I figured she’d tell me eventually.”

Sara doesn’t want to pry (that’s a lie, she just doesn’t want it to _look_ like she’s prying) but she’s intrigued. “She’s _maybe_ had one girlfriend your entire life? Don’t you think she gets lonely?”

Charlotte shrugs. “She’s got me. And her job keeps her busy.”

Right. This job she has, this job that gives her ‘connections.’ “What exactly is it that your mom does?”

“She’s mayor.”

That would, definitely, give someone connections. Sara doesn’t even need to give the word imaginary air quotes anymore. “Huh. Is she good at it?”

“Very,” Charlotte says, and there’s pride on her face. “She’s very efficient. Everyone’s kinda scared of her.”

“Scared of her?”

“She can be… a little standoffish, if you don’t know her well. And most people don’t. I’m really the only one, apart from maybe her assistant. But I think he’s kinda scared of her as well.”

“And your town keeps voting her in? Despite the fact they’re all scared of her?”

Charlotte shrugs. “It’s good scared. They all know they’d be sunk without her. No-one has any idea why she decided to move out there. She had some high-flying job in the the city, and then just upped and moved, a couple of years before she got me.”

“She sounds… interesting,” Sara says, and it’s not a lie. She’s, maybe, slightly more eager to meet this woman than she was ten minutes ago, but then, all of a sudden, Charlotte has a look in her eyes, a look that Sara reads easily. It’s the same look Laurel had had every time she got ideas about getting their parents back together.

“Don’t even think it, kid. This isn’t some fairytale. I don't know anything about her.”

“But you’re both—”

Sara holds up a finger. “Don’t. Even. Think it.”

Charlotte shuts up, a disappointed look on her face. Sara almost feels bad, but it’s for the best. Expectations can only lead to more disappointment. And that expectation is more ridiculous than most.

The car is silent for five minutes, for ten minutes, and then Charlotte starts talking again, bouncing back like apparently only children can, pushing Sara for more details about her life.

Sara gives in, because she’d rather talk about her job than have Charlotte be thinking about potential romantic entanglements with her mom, romantic entanglements that are absolutely not going to happen. She’s able to keep her distracted for at least half an hour by detailing the ins and outs of her job, and then she runs out of things to say.

There’s still many more hours of driving to go, and Sara has basically told Charlotte everything about her life. The only thing she hasn’t touched is her childhood, and she’s not going there.

There is another silence that lasts too long, and then Charlotte turns to her. “Do you want to know about me?”

That throws Sara for a loop. Does she?

If someone had asked her yesterday, before she met the kid, she would’ve said no, one hundred percent. But now… now it would feel cruel to say no. So she says, “Yes,” even though she’s not entirely sure it’s not going to hurt like hell.

As soon as Charlotte is given the go, she starts talking, a grin on her face like this was what she wanted all along. Her voice is animated.

Apparently, she likes being thorough, because it quickly turns out that Charlotte is telling her literally her entire life story, and Sara had never anticipated getting this much information about her kid, certainly not all at once, but as Charlotte talks, she doesn’t… hate it. It makes her sad, but not unbearably so, because her childhood has obviously been good. That much is clear, especially from all the not so subtle glowing references to her mom that Charlotte puts in. Sara ignores them, only interrupting to ask questions about Charlotte, not her mom.

She refuses to even think about anything related to this woman until she’s at least met her.

Halfway through the day, they stop for lunch, eating the sandwiches Charlotte had made. They’re surprisingly good. Better than the sandwiches Sara makes, which are usually just bread and cheese. Salad only ends up in there if she’s making an effort. When Sara says as much, Charlotte preens. “Mom likes me to be self-sufficient. She’s taught me how to cook. She’s a _great_ cook.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. She’s practically perfect in every way.” Sara pauses. “If she’s so great, why did you need me? Why did you need to put her through all this?”

Charlotte focuses on her sandwich. “I just needed to know. I don’t want a replacement. I just wanted to find you.”

“You put her through a lot of stress, Charlotte.”

She's still quiet, her brow furrowed. “I know. But she wouldn't have— she wouldn't have wanted to meet you. She wouldn't have brought me.” She pauses. “I don't blame her. She's sensitive about all this. She can't have kids.”

Sara grimaces. That probably wasn't Charlotte’s secret to tell, but then neither was Ava’s sexuality. There's something endearing about that, though, the way she is innocently spilling everything, completely earnest, with no hint of malice. Just bald honesty. Maybe adults could learn something from children; Sara has spent too much time around people who hide their every meaning behind layers of lies and crypticness.

Charlotte is still talking, tearing what’s left of her sandwich into tiny pieces. “I understand why she feels that way. But I knew if I told her I'd found you, she would've just told me to call, or email, and I didn't want to have to argue with her. I hate arguing with her. She hates arguing with me. I thought this would be easier.”

It's the sort of logic that would make sense to a nine-year-old. That running away across the country with nothing but a note left behind would be easier for her mom than having to argue with her about it. Sara’s not going to lecture her, partly because she can tell Charlotte feels bad, and partly because she's pretty sure that Ava will have things to say when they get back.

And partly because lecturing is too close to parenting.

She still gets this right feeling in her chest every time she looks over at this girl that is her _child_ , and doing mom things just makes it worse. So, instead of talking it through, she just stands up, packing up her garbage and says, “Next time, tell your mom. Trust me.”

Charlotte nods, sheepishly, following Sara. “Yeah, maybe.”

They don't talk much for the next couple of hours. Sara gives Charlotte her phone, shows her where the few games are, and that seems to keep her distracted for a while. Occasionally, out of the corner of her eye, Sara sees her try to stray away from the safe area of the phone, towards the various dating apps Sara rotates through, or, god forbid, her photos. She doesn't think there's anything particularly scandalous there, but she's never had to bother before about child proofing her shit.

“Stick to the games, Charlotte. Or you can play some music, if you want,” she says, leaning across to pull out the aux cord. “Some of the songs have swear words. Don't tell your mom.”

Charlotte nods, swipes through the library, then grins. Sara can't see what she's settled on, and then Taylor Swift starts blasting through the stereo. Of course she'd chosen that, of all the songs. Obviously, Sara isn't going to explain that she has that on there from when she was trying to fuck a girl who was super into Taylor Swift, so she just has to nod along. “You like her?” Sara asks.

Charlotte shrugs. “I know her. I don't know any of these other singers. You have weird taste.”

Sara actually laughs at that. “I like what I like, kid.”

“Still weird,” Charlotte shoots back.

Sara shakes her head, ignoring that. Charlotte’s attention goes back to the phone, if only for fifteen more minutes. Then she's back to staring at Sara. “Can you tell me about my dad?” The words hit Sara like a semi-truck, out of the blue, but they shouldn't, because it's something she really should've been prepared to be asked.

“No,” Sara says, immediately, not taking her eyes off the road.

“Oh.” It's a tiny, defeated sound, shock obvious at the abruptness of Sara’s answer.

“Anything you want to know, you can just Google. He's in the news every other week for something or other.”

Not that Sara keeps track.

“So it _is_ Oliver Queen?”

Fuck. She hadn't been thinking, hadn't meant to say that. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? You don't _know_?”

“Yes,” Sara sighs. “It's him. But I don't have anything else to tell you that's not inappropriate. We weren't in love. I just thought we were. He wasn't even my boyfriend.” Charlotte makes a sad sound, and when Sara turns to her, her lip is wobbling. “Oh f— Charlotte— hey, do you have a nickname? Char? Lottie?”

Charlotte looks away, out the window. “Lottie, usually.”

“I'm sorry, Lottie, but he's not worth talking about. We both got caught, but only I took the fall. I gave you up instead of giving you to him because I didn't want you turning out like him. Like a spoilt brat who pays his way out of trouble.”

“Okay.” Charlotte’s voice is quiet.

“I'm sorry, kid.”

“It's fine.”

It obviously isn't, but Sara doesn't know what to say. She just shakes her head. “I told you I wasn't worth knowing. I don't know how to do this. You're better off without me.” She looks at the road signs. “We’re close to Star City. Then you don't have to see me again.”

Charlotte looks at her. “Do you always give in that easily?”

“What?”

“One argument, and you're giving in?”

“You only need one argument to figure out that you don't want to know someone,” Sara mutters. “People usually figure out that they don't like me pretty quickly. I'm not likeable. It's not in my nature.”

“You're not unlikeable.”

“You just think that because I'm your— you just want to like me. It's better if you don't. If you don't get attached. It'll hurt less when I leave.”

“You said you wouldn't just leave.”

“I didn't say that. I said I'd talk to your mom. She's not going to like me either. She's not going to want me around.”

“Not if you turn up like this, she's not.” And, yeah, maybe subconsciously, that's what Sara’s going for. “You don't want to stay in touch, do you?” Charlotte asks, her voice quiet.

Sara can't answer that, so she doesn't. Nothing would be the right answer. She never wanted a kid. She'd always planned to give the baby up. She almost still doesn't want to know anything. But she almost does. Both answers are wrong. One is wrong for Charlotte and one is wrong for her.

Charlotte turns away, and doesn't say anything until they're twenty minutes away, and Sara specifically asks her for directions. Her voice is hard as she shows Sara where to go. When they get there, the house looks exactly as picturesque as Sara was expecting. There's legitimately a picket fence. The car parked outside is definitely fancier than Sara’s.

And then the door opens, and Sara gets her first look at Ava Sharpe. She's tall, with dark blonde hair scraped off her face. She's dressed in a well tailored pantsuit, the sort that looks like it costs as much as Sara makes in a month.

She's also very obviously beautiful.

She would look utterly put together, apart from the fact that the expression on her face is stricken, frantic, the relief at seeing the car pull up obvious. She's down the path in a couple of short strides. On her feet are heels, and Sara can tell that she's going to tower over her.

“Charlotte?” she calls.

Charlotte looks at Sara, before jumping out of the car, her backpack on her back.

Ava's face when she sees Charlotte round the car almost makes Sara wish she'd never given the kid up. She doesn't love anyone like that. There are tears in Ava’s eyes as Charlotte half walks, half runs to her. Sara watches, feeling like she's invading on something, but not able to tear her gaze away.

Ava leans down, and Charlotte falls easily into her arms. Sara can't hear what they're saying, but Ava’s mouth is moving quickly, too quickly to read. She pushes Charlotte back slightly to arms length, her eyes roaming over her, obviously checking for damage. Charlotte says something, and Ava nods, leans down further to kiss her on the forehead, the gesture impossibly fond, and then Charlotte is disappearing inside.

At the door, she looks briefly back at Sara, her expression unreadable, and then she's gone.

Ava finally turns her attention to Sara. She crosses her arms, and doesn't move to get any closer to the car, but from her stare at Sara, the message is obvious—Sara's not allowed to hide in the car any longer.

Sara gets out, reluctantly. When she slams the door to the car behind her, it sounds impossibly loud in the quiet neighbourhood, and she winces. She takes a step closer, on edge. She just wants to get out of here, to run away and never come back, but she can't. She can only hope that isn't obvious on her face.

Ava sticks out a hand. “So. You're Sara Lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 notes to bear in mind through this whole fic:  
> \- ava is aged a couple of years up. she's 38. sara is aged slightly down to 28  
> \- i know nothing about children or how they behave. i haven't been around nine year olds in a LONG TIME. don't @ me if this kid says things/acts in a way a child wouldn't  
> \- oliver queen will not turn up in any way or shape in this fic. is it ethically all there that he knows nothing about this child? probably not. do i care? no. he can get fucked. imagine the oliver in this is just the fuckboy pre-arrow and he never got even a tiny bit better if you need to justify it. anyway he will literally never show up or be remotely important  
> \- the angst isn't over until it's over :)))
> 
> from next monday, updating schedule is hopefully gonna be once per week, finishing right when legends s4 starts. oh, and don't worry, none of the other chapters are this ava-lite lmao


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you SO MUCH for the amazing reaction to the first chapter. You guys are wonderful and make writing so much better and more gratifying.
> 
> I got asked if there's any kid actor I picture charlotte as and I did a lol bit of research for age appropriate actors and so if you want a kid to picture, [mia talerico](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/85/1a/71/851a71a5944d6d3078bdd620b8e82d57.jpg) is a pretty good one to think of. Just imagine her with bluer eyes and a chin dimple lmao

Sara takes the hand, shakes it, grateful Ava is leading. Ava looks her up and down, and then withdraws her hand. “You haven't changed much.”

“Since…?” Sara screws up her face, confused.

Ava's arms cross again. “Since your mugshots,” she says, her voice dry.

So, she'd definitely gone straight to google, then. The mugshots are the second result when you search for Sara. The first is a photo that she'd taken of her and Ollie on the yacht, that they'd recovered off her phone. The mugshots are bad, but, in some ways, though she's almost glad Ava chose to bring them up and not the other photo—it's almost more damning, proof of how carefree, hedonistic, and unthinking she'd been that night.

“Oh.” Sara pauses, then reverts back to her usual defence: humour. “I had bangs back then. I'd like to think getting rid of those changed me for the better.”

“Hmm.” Ava doesn't seem convinced. “You really stole a boat?”

“A long time ago.”

“And my daughter’s birth father is really… _the_ Oliver Queen?” Charlotte had apparently managed to convey that particular piece of information in the quick conversation they'd had.

“Yes.”

“And you're a bounty hunter?”

“Yes.”

Ava sighs. “I'd ask if you were sure she's yours but… you look like her.” Her voice is pained.

"I know."

She gives Sara one more look over, sighs again—and then, instead of waving Sara away, which is almost what it seems like she's about to do, she says, “Come inside, Sara. I'll get you a drink.”

Sara blinks. She wasn't expecting that. “What? No. It's fine.”

“Come inside.”

It's not a request.

Sara goes back to her car, locks it, and then follows Ava inside.

Her living room is almost as big as Sara’s entire apartment. She settles down on a couch, feeling uncomfortable. A minute later, Ava hands her a glass of water. She's glad Ava didn't give her a choice. She would've fucked up and asked for alcohol. Something to calm her nerves.

Ava sits down opposite her, and then gives her no warning before diving straight in. “What did you say to Charlotte?”

“What do you mean?” She'd said a lot of things.

Ava leans forward, her face stressed. “There's something wrong. She wouldn't tell me what. I think she wanted to protect you. But you're going to tell me everything you said until I figure out what upset her, or you're getting out of my house.”

Sara feels like reminding her that she only just invited her in, but the irrationality is warranted right now.

She sighs. “I’m pretty sure I know what it is. I wouldn't tell her about her Dad. Told her it wasn't worth it, that he wasn't worth it. She got all clammed up, and she was obviously mad at me, and so I just told it like it was—that she wasn't going to like me, and it wasn't worth keeping in touch with me.”

“You told her _what_?” The sudden anger in Ava’s voice is palpable.

“I'm not worth knowing,” Sara mumbles, feeling small. “It's better she finds that out now.”

“Better for who?” Ava asks, venom spitting from her mouth. “For you? It's easier that way, isn't it? You don't have to make yourself better, that way. I know your type. Convinced you're so damaged that no-one could ever want to know you, and so you hide behind that to avoid making any sort of connections.”

Sara blinks. Ava is cutting her right to the bone after knowing her for literal minutes. It's like she's stared deep into her soul and read every thought she's ever had. It's like she already knows her.

“No— I mean— No,” Sara stammers, shell-shocked. “Better for her. She's got you. She doesn't need me. She shouldn't _want_ me.”

“That's not your choice to make. Not anymore. You made that choice when you didn't completely seal the adoption. You had to know this was a possibility.”

And that's the thing. Sara _had_ known that. For the first couple of years, in prison, she'd fantasised about finding the kid, having some sort of relationship with her one day.

Not a mom, but maybe a cool aunt.

And then years had passed, and she'd never heard anything, and the more time passed, and the more damaged she realised she was, the more she was convinced it would be a bad thing to ever try to find the baby. So she hadn't.

“She found you, and now you've got to step up.” Ava pauses, sighing. “Well. You don't have to. I can't _make_ you. But I want you to. For her. Stay. Get to know her a bit more. Please.”

Every word she's saying is making Sara uncomfortable, and so she lashes out, words spilling out of her with more malice than she'd intended. “ _Why_ do you want me to stay, Ava? Aren't you worried she's going to want to replace you with the real thing?”

As soon as she's said it, she wishes she could take it back. Hurt is evident behind Ava’s eyes, hurt that she can't mask quick enough. She stands up, all of a sudden, and her height is imposing. She's speechless, apparently not expecting that sort of jab.

Sara doesn't wait for Ava to tell her to leave. “I'm sorry. I need to go,” she says, standing up and stalking towards the front door. “I need a real drink,” she adds as an afterthought.

“No. I have things here,” Ava says, her voice weak, slightly broken. “Stay. Please.”

Sara turns back to her, not quite believing Ava still wants her there after what she just said. “I'll be in town. You have bars here, right? You're not too _quaint_ for that?”

There is something like relief on Ava’s face, at the indication that Sara isn't straight up leaving town. “Yes. We have bars.”

Sara doesn’t wait to hear more, just grabs the jacket she’d discarded, storming out of the house, maybe slamming the door slightly too hard.

 

There are signs that point to the town centre, and she follows them. It's picturesque, but, eventually, she finds a bar. It's a little too squeaky clean for her taste, but it looks like it'll serve alcohol, at least. She walks in, and the bartender greets her, his smile too wide. No-one smiles that much back home. Small towns are weird.

“What can I get you?”

“Double whiskey. Neat.”

He pours it, slides it over. “What brings you to Starling?”

Sara looks at him briefly, at the smile still on his face, his expression so cheery she wants to throw something. “I'll tip you more if you don't talk to me.”

This shuts him up for five seconds, then apparently his curiosity gets the better of him. “It's just, we don't get a whole lot of visitors. Most people skip straight past to go to Star City.”

“I'm not going to be here long.” She runs her finger around the rim of the glass, staring at the amber liquid.

“What are you here for? Business? Pleasure?”

“Visiting.” She doesn't look up. Maybe if she doesn't look at him, he’ll get the message.

“Who?” he presses. “We’re pretty tight knit here. I probably know them.”

Sara continues to stare down her drink, wondering if she could down it all in one and get out of there. She decides against it, just says, “The Mayor,” not looking at him.

“Oh,” he says, and she can almost hear the confused frown on his face. “I thought she was preoccupied with finding Charlotte.”

Sara takes a swig, rips off the bandaid. “Charlotte’s back.” She looks at him, watches as his expression changes. “I brought the kid back.”

“Wait. Really?” he asks. Sara nods, resigned, and he turns away. “Nora. Nora!”

A dark haired woman appears through a door behind the bar, her expression bored. “What, Ray?”

“Charlotte’s back!”

Her eyes widen, matching his. “Really?” Her tone immediately changes. Apparently everyone really does know everyone here. Then she narrows her eyes at him. “Wait. How do you know?”

Ray gestures at Sara. “She said she brought her back.” Nora looks at her, as if only just noticing that Sara is there for the first time.

Keeps looking at her. Her gaze is intense. She keeps staring, for five seconds, ten seconds more than is comfortable, and then all she says is, “Well, obviously _she_ brought her back.”

Ray looks at her. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“She's her birth mom. They're literally identical, Ray.”

“Oh.” Now Ray’s staring at her as well, and she can't take it. Sara finally downs the glass, pulls out her wallet, and slams a twenty down on the counter. “That's too much! You said you weren't going to tip!”

Sara isn't listening, can't believe this man is trying to give her her money back. She's back out into the cold, early evening air in five seconds, feeling worse than she had before she'd gone in.

At least the alcohol will hit soon.

She turns to start walking, and then realizes she has no idea which way she came. The streets look the same. She’s lost, and she’s about to have to admit defeat and go back in, ask for directions, and then she hears her name.

“Sara!” Ava is walking towards her. Sara wants to turn away, walk away from her, but she doesn't. She's stuck. Ava reaches her.

Sara looks at her, her eyes a little wilder than they should be. “Does everyone here know about Charlotte? Her history? Because they figured out who I was in about ten seconds flat and I can’t— I can’t do that. I can’t do this.”

Ava looks at the bar behind them, immediately working out what had happened. “I would've told you not to go here. Nora's good at figuring people out. Mick’s would've been better. He doesn't really care about me. I think he likes Charlotte, but he probably wouldn't have pried, even if you mentioned her.”

“You could've told me that.”

“You ran out of there, Sara. You didn't give me a chance to tell you anything.”

Sara moves into Ava’s space, trying to seem imposing, despite the fact that Ava has three or four inches on her. “You _could've_ told me things, but you decided to lecture me, instead.”

But Ava stands her ground, not flinching. “You deserved the lecture. If you still can't see that you pushing her away is only better for you, not for her, then you need another one.”

“I'm never going to be good for her,” Sara retorts. “I'm damaged. I’m not cut out for this. I can’t—” Sara stops, angry tears almost pricking up. She forces them back down, swallowing hard. She’s not crying in front of Ava. Never. “I can’t do this,” she says, gritting her teeth, her voice firm, no room for negotiation.

That doesn’t seem to faze Ava though, because she’s still talking, her jaw tight, her eyes blazing. She’s really properly angry, but Sara can tell she’s still holding back. She feels like she doesn’t want to see what Ava would look like not holding back. “So fucking what, Sara? I'm not asking you to be her mom. She's already got one of those. I'm just asking you not to leave and never see her again.”

But, behind all the power in Ava’s voice, there's still a slight wobble. The smallest flicker behind her eyes. Sara has a feeling that Ava likes being in control, and suddenly, here is something she can't control, something that might affect her daughter, and Sara can see that it's killing her, not truly being able to stop Sara from leaving if Sara wanted to. Her eyes are searching Sara’s face, anger fading as she keeps searching for answers, waiting for Sara to say what she needs to hear.

Ava’s voice softens, and then it’s almost pleading. “She's your kid. Having a kid means doing what's best for them, not you. Letting her go then was the right choice. Letting her go now wouldn't be. You have to see that.”

Sara looks at her, at the lines of worry in her face, and looks away, because it’s too much. She’s not looking at Ava when she speaks again. “Why are you trying to keep me around? I was so fucking rude to you. And I'm her birth mom. I'm everything you can't be.” It's not malicious this time, just… stating facts. The words taste bitter in her mouth. “You have to hate me, Ava.”

Sara hates herself. She expect others to do the same.

“I don't hate you. I don't particularly like you,” Ava concedes, “at least not yet, but Charlotte does. Even after what you said, she still seems to like you, seems to still want you around, and having a kid means—”

“Doing what's best for them. Got it.” Sara says it so she doesn’t have to hear it from Ava’s voice again, too earnest for her own good.

Ava smiles a small smile. “You’re getting it. It means doing what's best for them. So if she likes you, I'm going to try my best to keep you around.” She pauses, taking a breath. “Look. Will you just please come back to the house? I'm making dinner. You should eat. Just come back. You don't have to agree to… anything else yet.”

Sara would rather find another bar, drink herself silly, fall asleep in her car, and then wake up and do exactly what Ava is telling her not to: drive away and never come back. She wants to do that so badly. But she doesn’t. She sighs, looks at Ava. “Can you actually cook? Charlotte said you can, but I don’t think kids are the best judges of cooking.”

Ava’s smile widens a little bit more. “Does that mean you’re coming back?”

“Maybe. But not for you. I’m hungry,” Sara says, not looking at her eyes.

“Whatever you say, Sara,” Ava says, her voice suddenly hard again. “Just come back. I don’t want to have to explain to her that you just ran off.”

Sara stares at Ava’s shoes. She feels like a child. She doesn’t feel like she should _have_ a child. She still wants to run away. She never asked for any of this.

By Ava’s side, her hands are twisting, restless, and then they stop, join together behind her back, obviously a coping mechanism. It makes her look imposing, but when you're able to figure out why she's doing it, it almost makes her look vulnerable. Another notch in her armor, a notch Sara could easily exploit, but that she doesn’t, instead, just gives in.

“Fine. Fine. Lead the way,” she says, reluctantly.

They’re silent most of the way back, but Ava keeps glancing at her out of the corner of her eyes, and eventually, it’s too much. Sara stops, abruptly, turning. “What, Ava?” She can’t keep the confrontation out of her voice.

Ava stops half a second too late, having to backtrack. “What are you talking about?”

“You keep fucking staring at me.”

“You’re my daughter’s birth mother. Of course I’m staring at you,” Ava hisses, looking at Sara like she’s an idiot, doing that thing that makes Sara feel about two feet tall again. “I think I earned a couple of minutes of staring.”

Sara crosses her arms. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No,” Ava concedes. “You don’t have to like it.” She pauses, rolling her eyes, opening her mouth as if to say something. The words take a second to come out, like they hurt. “ _I_ don’t even _like_ it. You look so much like her. God. It's like the more I look, the more similar you two are. Her hair is the same colour and she’s got your freckles and she’s got that— that fucking dimple,” Ava says, gesturing at Sara’s chin. “I knew it was genetic and I guess I knew that one day I’d have to— have to face you and see _her_ on you, but I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t want it to be like this, but it is like this, and I can’t do anything about it, so, excuse me if I stare, Sara!”

Her voice has raised, past polite level, past raised, right to almost shouting, and Sara’s already found out what Ava looks like when she loses control, when she doesn’t hold back. It’s icey cold, sadness dripping from each word, each word that is supposed to only be angry, but just… isn’t.

Sara just stares back, affronted. She sets her mouth in a hard line. “So you hate me.”

“No. I don’t. I hate what you remind me of.”

“That’s the same thing,” Sara says, stepping closer, into Ava’s space, an obvious challenge. “You hate me. Just say it. It’ll make things easier if we’re both being honest.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Come on, Ava—”

“I don’t hate you. Stop pushing it before I do,” Ava says, and then she’s storming off, almost faster than Sara can keep up with. Her strides are long, taking her away from Sara with every step. Sara catches up two minutes later, and Ava stops, looking Sara in the eye, and she seems to be re-evaluating. “Okay. Look. I don’t hate you, but if you dare start shit like this where Charlotte can hear you, I might. Got it?” Sara doesn’t say anything, just stares. Ava stares back. “Well?”

“Yeah. Got it. No shit talking at the dinner table,” Sara says, her voice moody, petulant. Like a child.

“Sara…”

Something in Ava’s voice breaks Sara, in the way every syllable is aching with how much she cares about Charlotte, and Sara’s anger suddenly dissipates. It had been unjustifiable anger anyway, trying to force anger out of Ava, her own fear and pain coming out as a need to get a rise out of this woman she hardly even knows. The fear and pain that have been trying to drown her since Charlotte first showed up at her door. But it’s like something snaps, because, suddenly, the care in Ava’s voice makes Sara want to try. It makes her want to at least _try_ , so she takes a breath, looks at Ava, and says, “Yeah. No.” She pauses. “Sorry. I was out of line. I'm just— this is all a lot to take in. I'm still processing it all. Not very well, clearly. I'll be good.”

“Thank you,” Ava says, letting out a tiny breath. “Now let's just… try to stay civil like this, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sara agrees, hands in her pockets.

 

When they get back, Ava disappears into the kitchen, refusing help.

At some point, Charlotte appears in the doorway, so quiet Sara almost doesn’t notice her. In fact, she doesn’t. It’s not the sight that alerts her, but the sound, feet on hardwood floor.

You had to be good at picking up the smallest of sounds to survive prison.

Charlotte’s eyes are wide, and she looks timid. Not like the girl Sara had first met, and Sara immediately feels guilt twisting in her stomach, curling around her heart, strangling her a little. She’s known her a day and she’s already broken her.

If the music that had been coming out of the kitchen—something loud and instrumental and pretentious—lowers slightly in volume as Ava hears Charlotte come down, obviously wanting to know what Sara is going to say, Sara doesn’t let on that she’s noticed. Instead, she looks at Charlotte, her hands twisting in her lap. “I’m sorry, kid. I shouldn’t have been so blunt earlier. I’m not used to dealing with children, just mainly… criminals. My social compass is kinda skewed.”

Charlotte moves closer. “You were rude.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“It's okay.” Charlotte sits down next to her. “I'm rude sometimes. Especially when weird things happen. You weren't expecting me, and that threw you off. I should've called first.”

“No. I understand why you didn’t. I probably would’ve told you not to come. You made the right choice.” Sara pauses for a second, takes a breathe, looks away. “I’m glad you made that decision. I’m glad I’m here.”

And she is, in a weird way. With Charlotte sitting next to her, wide-eyed and innocent, and Ava in another room where she can’t piss Sara off, where Sara can't piss _her_ off, Sara’s glad to be there.

“Really?”

“Yeah, kid.”

Charlotte makes a motion with her body, shifting closer, before abruptly stopping. She was going in for a hug. She looks up at Sara. “Can I?”

Sara considers for a second, then decides she doesn’t want to be the sort of person that bans her own child from touching her, and nods. The smile on Charlotte’s face widens. When she hugs Sara, she’s warm, soft, squishy. Less sharp edges than an adult. Less sharp edges than Ava, who looks like she might cut you if you tried to embrace her. Sara lets her eyes close, lets her arms move to wrap around the kid.

When Charlotte eventually pulls away, she looks so much more relaxed, content. Sara can’t help but smile back.

“Are you staying?”

“Yeah,” Sara says, and Charlotte is already up and running towards the kitchen, before she can hear Sara add, “For dinner.”

Just for dinner. That’s what she’d agreed. She winces as she hears Charlotte talking to Ava. Her voice is loud enough that it carries through the partly closed door. She’s taking it the wrong way, taking Sara’s one word to mean that she’s staying longer than dinner, but she isn’t. She doesn’t think Ava even really wants her to, wants her to be under her roof longer than is necessary to placate Charlotte.

Ava comes to the door, an apron wrapped around her waist, the very picture of domesticity. Sara doesn’t think she’s ever even owned an apron, let alone worn one. There’s an expression on her face that Sara can’t read. Not quite annoyance or anger, but not quite curiosity either.

“You’re staying after dinner?” Ava asks.

“No. No Just for dinner,” Sara says, hastily. “Then I’m going.”

Ava’s face twists into something that Sara is almost certain is a confused frown. “Where?”

Sara shrugs. “Home? I figure I can get a few hours driving in before I have to find somewhere to crash.”

Probably her car, but she’s not going to say that.

But then Ava is shaking her head, and Charlotte has joined her in the doorway, Ava’s arm going round her reflexively. “No. You can’t drive all the way here and then half the way back in one day. I’m not going to let you do that. It’s not safe.”

Sara crosses her arms, standing up. “What would you suggest, then?”

She already knows what Ava is going to say, and she already knows what she’s going to say back, because there’s only one answer that doesn’t break Charlotte’s heart.

“Stay here. With us. Just for the night.”

“Fine.”

Charlotte smiles, and Ava just looks… relieved. Not exactly happy. Just relieved. She bends down, says something to Charlotte that Sara can’t hear, and then the kid is disappearing back into the kitchen. Ava closes the door behind her. She shifts from foot to foot, her arms going behind her back. “If you… want to stay longer, you’re welcome to.”

Sara doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything, just stares back, feeling slightly trapped.

Ava breaks the silence by continuing. “You don’t— you don’t have to. I’m not going to make you stay longer than the night. Just doing that is enough. But if you wanted to… We don’t get many guests. No-one’s going to need the room.” Her eyes are flicking around the room, obviously nervous. “But don’t— don’t let that scare you off, though. If you don’t want to do that, just stay for the night? Please?”

Sara realises with a jolt that Ava is worried she’s going to go back on a promise she made all of thirty seconds ago.

“Yeah, no, I’m staying. It’s okay.”

Ava lets out a tiny breath. It’s almost cute. _She’s_ almost cute, when her face isn’t twisted into a frown. (That’s a lie. She looks good even then. Sara’s trying not to think about that.)

If she’s not going straight back home, she might as well stay a few days, get food made for her.

“Maybe a couple of days?” Sara suggests, shoving her hands in her back pockets to stop them from betraying how nervous she is. “If that’s okay? I can try not to make you despise me. It’ll be a fun game,” she says, her voice light, like this is something casual, and not about whole, real, halfway grown child.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” Ava pauses. “But I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to despise you,” she says, quietly. “You’re her birth mom. I wouldn’t do that to her.” Ava takes one last look at Sara, then says, “Dinner’s going to be half an hour,” before spinning around, and moving back into the kitchen.

Sara watches her retreat, wishing she could believe what Ava had said. Ava might be patient, willing to work with her, but Sara has a knack for putting people off. She’s going to try to be good, but she can’t guarantee anything.

She wishes she could guarantee anything, but she can’t. She’s screwed up too many relationships to be able to make any sort of promise.

Charlotte doesn’t come back into the room. Sara can hear her talking animatedly to Ava, and going in would feel like intruding, so she just waits, finally taking in her surroundings. Ava’s house is, to put it lightly, amazing.

Eventually, Ava brings something out that both smells and looks amazing.

“Lasagne,” she announces. Sara eyes it.

“You made that from scratch?” Sara remembers one time googling the steps required to make lasagne, seeing the words ‘step 25’ and immediately resigning herself to ready-made lasagnes for the rest of her life.

“Yeah,” Ava says. “Charlotte helped a bit, but, yeah.”

“Is this a special guest meal?”

“No.”

“Really?” Sara asks, narrowing her eyes.

“When have I had the time to buy ingredients specially for you?” Ava says, crossing her arms, her voice indignant. “I've been chasing you around town since you got here.”

So she just cooks like that all the time. Noted. Another way in which they're impossibly and insurmountably different. Another way that she's infinitely better for Charlotte than Sara ever could've been.

“Right…” Sara says, her voice trailing off, looking down at her feet.

“Let's just eat,” Ava replies.

Sara nods. She needs her mouth occupied before she says something utterly stupid.

Dinner is good, obviously. Sara keeps her mouth shut most of the time, just listening to what the other two have to say, only interjecting when it looks like they want her to say something. It works well, because Sara has less of a chance to put her foot in it, and Charlotte seems to have an endless amount of energy for speaking, now that she's gotten over her brief anger with Sara, bouncing back to easy cheerfulness in the way only children can.

She's dumping a huge amount of information on Sara at once, even more than she had in the car, and she _wants_ to remember it all, but she can't. Charlotte’s throwing names and places and times at her, and it's all Sara can do to remember even one identifying piece of information out of each story. Her mind is a mess of Melissa and ponies and the school trip and she can't keep it together.

At some point, she looks over at Ava, her eyes wide, and, apparently, they're already on the same wavelength (something she pointedly pushes down, just like she's pushing down how good Ava still looks, even after an hour and a half cooking), and Ava reaches out a hand to Charlotte, her face soothing. “Charlotte? Honey? I think you're overloading Sara a little bit.”

“Oh.” Charlotte's face drops, crestfallen. “I just wanted to tell her as much as possible before she leaves.”

“You can tell her next time,” Ava says, before looking up at Sara, mirroring Sara’s expression of thirty seconds earlier, her eyes wide, pleading. Asking Sara to confirm that there'll be a next time.

Sara holds in the sigh that wants to come, instead smiles, twirls her fork between her fingers, and says, “Yeah, kid, tell me next time. My memory isn't what it used to be.”

“Because you're old?” Charlotte asks, and it's only a tiny bit cheeky.

“Yep, practically ancient.”

Ava, who must be at least ten years older than Sara, coughs. “She's not _that_ old, Lottie. She's, what…” Sara can see the cogs turning in Ava’s mind, trying to work it out. The newspaper clipping said her age, but Sara isn't sure if Ava remembers that. “Twenty-six?” Ava guesses, finally.

She's purposely low balling. Sara knows that. She doesn't look twenty-six. She doesn't look twenty-eight. Years in prison and years alone have aged her more than she'd like to admit. People usually guess early thirties.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Ancient,” Charlotte confirms.

Ava just raises an eyebrow, doesn't push it. She doesn't seem particularly hurt, just amused. Sara imagines she's not one to care much about her age.

When they're done, Charlotte gets down, takes one last look at Sara, and says, “You’ll be here in the morning?” Sara nods, and this seems to satisfy her, because she disappears out of the room, and Sara hears footsteps on the stairs.

Ava looks at her over the table. “Thank you.”

“It's fine. It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing. It's a child. Thank you for agreeing to stay. It means a lot to her. And to me,” Ava adds, her voice getting quieter. She stands up after she finishes, starts picking up dishes, as if to distract Sara from what she's just said.

Sara hastily follows her, helping with the clearing. At one point, they reach for the same plate. Sara wonders if Ava notices her pulling her hand away like she's been burnt. She doesn't want to touch Ava, because if she does, she'll start having thoughts again, like the ones that occupied her mind all through dinner, Ava sitting opposite her. The thoughts about how she's stunning, how she's exactly Sara’s type, how, potentially, Sara could potentially be _her_ type.

The moment passes, though, and Sara shoves the thoughts out of her mind, gathers up the remaining dishes, and follows Ava into the kitchen. Ava sets hers down on the side, motioning for Sara to do the same. Ava opens a dishwasher, and they're mostly silent for a couple of minutes as they load, Ava only speaking to ask for specific plates or cutlery.

They fall into sync easily. Sara almost wants to disrupt it in some sort of fight against whatever up there is telling her that they should be together.

She knows it's a child’s fantasy. She's sure that, once she gets to know Ava, there'll be a million reasons why they'd never work out. But Charlotte had planted the seed, and Sara can't get rid of it.

When they're done, Ava slumps against the counter. She pulls the apron away from her body, and releases her hair from its bun. It falls down her back in waves, an odd kink in it from the pins and hair bands. It's both mesmerising and endearing at the same time.

Sara's been told in the past that she has an energy to her, and, for the first time, she's seeing it in someone else. There's just something about this woman that makes the hairs on the back of Sara's neck stand up, that brings goosebumps to her skin.

Ava sighs, looks at Sara. “That's easier with two people,” she says, pointing to the dishwasher.

“Happy to help,” Sara says.

This seems to stop Ava for a second. Maybe she'd made some assumptions about Sara, assumptions that she wouldn't want to help, that she wouldn't be that sort of person. Sara wouldn't blame her if she had. She isn't _usually_ that type of person, but a day with Charlotte, and she feels like she's already changing.

“Right,” Ava says, eventually, and then her words trail off. Her expression twists, and she pushes away from the counter, standing up straight. Her hands go behind her back again. It makes her look imposing, but, at the same time, there's vulnerability to the gesture, this gesture that’s clearly a coping mechanism. Ava obviously doesn't know what to say.

Sara crosses her arms, tries to look casual. “You— you said something about having things to drink here?”

Relief breaks on Ava's face at Sara guiding the conversation, their activities. “Yes. I do. What do you prefer?”

“Whiskey.”

“I keep my alcohol in my office,” Ava says, leading Sara into a room adjoining the kitchen, pointing her into a seat. After thirty seconds of searching, Ava returns with a bottle and two glasses.

Sara scans the label. It's not the bad stuff. In fact, it's the ridiculously expensive stuff. She'd normally refuse, but from the look of Ava’s house, she can take the hit.

As Ava pours it, Sara stares at the glass, and says, “Look. I need to talk to you.” She looks up, and Ava's face is worried. “I'm not going. It's nothing like that. Just… some things Charlotte said.”

“Okay,” Ava says, drawing the syllables out. “Sure.” She sits down, clutching her glass hard. “Shoot.”

Sara leans forward in her chair. “She told me stuff about you. Private shit. I would've stopped her but she kept talking without warning.”

Ava shifts, obviously uncomfortable. “Okay,” she repeats, “what sort of stuff?”

Sara pauses, wondering what to lead with. After a couple of seconds of silence, the worry on Ava’s face is growing stronger, her eyebrows raised, and Sara makes a snap decision. “She told me you can't have kids.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I'm sorry, she just said it—”

“No, it's fine,” Ava interjects. “I'm kinda… at peace with it, and, anyway, most people here know that. Most of them have been here since before I got Charlotte, so they know all that. It's— I don't really mind talking about it. I wouldn't have her if I could have kids. I wouldn't change her for anything…” she trails off, a smile on her face that makes Sara ache. Once again, she wishes she felt anything like that, for anyone. Then the smile falls off Ava’s face. “Was that all?”

“No.” Sara shakes her head. “No.”

She looks down again, wishing she'd never mentioned Nyssa, never given Charlotte an opening to out her own mother. She has a feeling that even if Ava’s inability to have children is public knowledge, _this_ isn't.

There's no easy way to say it, so she just rips off the bandaid. “She told me you're gay,” she says, all in a rush. _Shetoldmeyouregay._

“Huh,” Ava says, and her voice is small. “I never told—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head.

“So you are?”

“I don't— I mean— Yeah,” Ava settles on, eventually, sighing. “Yeah. It's mostly irrelevant. I don't date. I don't have time, and I've got a kid.”

“Never?”

Ava shakes her head, and all Sara can't think is how much of a shame that is. She's beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to have her.

There's silence for a minute.

“How did it… how did that come up?” Ava eventually asks, trying to sound casual, and failing.

Sara takes a sip, needing the alcohol. “I mentioned a girlfriend I had in prison. Charlotte made assumptions.”

“Assumptions,” Ava echoes, and there's something on her face, something unreadable. “I'm sorry. I thought I taught her to be politer than that. I know things are… different in prison. She shouldn't have assumed anything.”

Sara is about to make a quip about how little Ava probably knows about prison, to ask if she knows everything from Orange is the New Black, and then she realises what Ava is saying. The assumptions _Ava_ is making. That Nyssa was a phase. It's an assumption that Sara could let Ava keep. Letting her believe that would make everything so much easier, but it's disingenuous. And, anyway, Charlotte’s sure to let it slip at some point, if her immediate fantasies about the two of them are anything to go by.

“No, that's not—” Sara stops, sighing, her fingers going to the bridge of her nose. “It wasn't just a prison thing.”

“So you’re—”

“Bi,” Sara finishes, only wincing slightly as she says it. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous. She’s come out hundreds of times, pretty much to every woman she wants to sleep with. But there’s something about this that puts her on edge.

“Oh,” Ava says, again, like a stuck record. Sara would be annoyed if it weren't for the weight of the information she's currently dumping on Ava’s shoulders. “Okay. Then what— what was she assuming?”

“That this meant we'd be a thing.”

“A thing?” Ava doesn't seem to be getting it, her face screwed up in a way that should make her unattractive, but that doesn't.

Sara doesn't want to explain it any further, but Ava _really_ doesn't seem to be getting it, so she tries again. “Romantically,” she offers. “A thing romantically. Because, you know, two women who like women, obviously a perfect match.” She pauses, re-evaluating her tone. “Sorry. That was harsh. She's just a kid. I see why she would make that assumption, but, you know, I told her it wasn't happening.”

“Right,” Ava says, her voice slightly dreamy, obviously still processing. “Not happening.” Then she looks up, sees Sara staring at her, and coughs, rights herself, her voice going back to normal. “Obviously. We don't know each other. Nothing's happening,” she repeats, her voice firm. “And, anyway, even if we wanted to—”

“Which we don't,” Sara says, maybe more aggressively than she should. Ava looks at her slightly funny.

“—right, which we don't—we couldn't. There's too much of a risk of hurting her. She's not thinking about that.” Ava doesn't sound like she's pushing anything down, or denying anything. Her voice is calm, matter of fact, but then, this is new information for her. Sara's had it for hours, had time to let it stew, think it through.

“Yeah, exactly. I just wanted to tell you, so she didn’t drop it on you,” Sara says, standing up and finishing her drink.

“No, yeah, thank you for… telling me,” Ava says, slowly. When she looks up, Sara might be imagining it, but her cheeks look slightly pink, and, maybe, maybe, her eyes are sweeping over Sara’s body.

But maybe it’s the drink, and Sara’s brain working on overtime, her brain that is reminding her that she hasn’t gotten laid in a month, and that Ava is ridiculously hot and (strictly) available. As she walks away, though, she pushes the thoughts down, because it’s a terrible, terrible idea. The worst. The type of idea that could literally wreck a home, and she’s already done that once. She’s not doing it again.

And then she stops, halfway down the hallway, reverses. Ava looks up, her expression slightly shocked, like Sara had disturbed her from thoughts.

(Maybe the same thoughts, Sara says, then swears internally again, because she’s actually going crazy. She doesn’t know this woman. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.)

“Sorry. Did you— did you have a room for me?”

Ava jumps up, guilty. “Yes. God. Sorry. I’m not— I’m not thinking today. I’m… distracted. It’s been a long day,” she says, her expression apologetic. She gets up, motions for Sara to step aside, and Sara does, pressing against the doorway to let Ava through. Ava looks at her. “Wait down here. I’ll get you some towels and… things…” she trails off.

“I don’t need anything. I’ve got a change of clothes. I don’t need towels. It’s fine.”

Ava shakes her head. “No. No. I insist.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Sara says, moving towards the stairs. “Just show me where the room is.”

Ava grabs onto her arm, stopping her, and then dragging her back towards the office. “Sit down. It doesn’t set a good example for Charlotte if I don’t treat guests well.”

“So that’s what it is?” Sara asks.

Ava nods, tersely.

Sara doesn’t know why she says the next thing that comes out of her mouth, but, in her defense, Ava is unbearably close, and she still has her hand on Sara’s arm. “So it’s not because now you know I swing that way, you have a crush on me?” It takes a second for Sara’s brain to catch up to what her mouth has just said, and once she does, it feels like the world is about the cave in on her.

She's not doing a good job of making it look like she hates this woman. She's making it look like she's flirting, like she's trying, when she's _not._ She _can't._ Not ever.

For a millisecond, there's shock on Ava’s face, and then she masks it, easily, her features settling back down into one of passive disapproval. “No, Miss Lance. It's not.”

Miss Lance. Apparently, they've already reverted from first names to second. Sara's not particularly surprised, not after what she just said. Ava doesn't say anything more than that, just disappears upstairs, and Sara is glad. Maybe they can just forget it.

Sara collapses back down in the chair she was in. From upstairs, she can hear drawers opening and closing, and figures she has a minute, at least, so she pours herself another drink, downs it, glad Ava is the type to shell out for whiskey that goes down easily, not the type that does the job, but that does it while tasting a bit like bleach.

She doesn't think Ava will notice. The bottle is dusty, like she doesn't get it out often. The alcohol does something to mask the embarrassment she feels. She sits there, plans out the rest of her time. After that… mishap, there's no way she's staying more than one night. She'll stay the day, wait for Charlotte to get home from school, then leave. Everything will be better that way.

A couple of minutes later, Ava returns. “You're the second door on the left. There's an ensuite. Towels and clothes are on the bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

It's an obvious order masked by words that don't exactly sound like one. _Go upstairs. Try not to cause any more trouble before dawn._ Sara doesn't see any point in trying to push against it. “Yeah,” she mutters, not looking at Ava. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She's at the doorway when she hears Ava's voice again. “Wait.”

Sara turns, daring to sneak a glance upwards, to Ava’s eyes. “Yeah?”

Ava’s face twists into a frown, or something like it. “Sleep well,” she says, in a hurry, almost like she doesn't want to, like some need deep inside her is forcing her to be polite.

“Yeah,” Sara says, again, like a stuck record. She gestures vaguely at Ava. “You too.”

The room is lovely. Because, of course it is. She pulls out her bag, and then realises that she only packed a change of clothes, not any sort of pyjamas. The clothes that Ava has left out don't look worn, but Sara can't bring herself to wear them, anyway, so she just strips off instead. She'd rather sleep in her underwear than wear something of Ava’s. The thought feels wrong.

It usually takes her ages to fall asleep, but the bed is large, soft, and ridiculously comfy, and she's so mentally worn out that sleep finds her after a mere half an hour of waiting, practically a record for her.

In her dreams, it's like a replay of the past two days. Charlotte finds her, they drive here, everything with Ava happens. And then she asks Ava if she has a crush on her, and Ava kisses her in response.

Sara wakes with a start as she feels Ava’s lips on hers, her breathing heavy, trying to push the image out of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if there'll be an update next week. it all depends on a number of personal things. i'm not going to get into it here, but if you follow me on twitter, you'll have a vague idea of what's going on. hopefully, some way or another, you'll get the whole fic, even if the rest of the chapters are posted un-edited and un-polished.
> 
> i'm not happy with this chapter. i couldn't get it right, no matter what i tried, so sorry if the emotions seem all over the place. in all honesty, the whole fic is kinda all over the place. i think it's both too fast and too slow at the same time, but i guess you guys can be the judge of that


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your support, guys! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Sara doesn't know what time it is. She can hear people moving though, so at least it’s morning.

She'd left her phone downstairs in her haste to get away from Ava last night, so there's no way of telling. She pulls herself out of the bed, goes to the door, opens it a crack—and is rewarded with the sight of Ava, wrapped in a towel, wandering across the hallway. It's just long enough to be decent, hanging down to her mid-thighs. The rest of her legs are on show, and it's a cliche, but they seem to go on for miles. Her hair is wet, hanging loose. It travels down to the middle of her back, dropping water on the carpet.

Sara closes the door, as quietly as she can, trying to ignore how fast her breathing has gotten. It's just a women in a _towel,_ for God’s sake. She's seen that a million times, seen women with far less on even more.

But there's something about _this_ particular woman.

She hears Ava knock on what Sara can only assume is Charlotte’s door. “Lottie? Honey? You need to get up. You gotta go back to school today.”

Two minutes later, Sara hears the sound of Ava going downstairs, and assumes the coast is clear for her to emerge. She finds the clothes she’d packed, shrugs them on. As an afterthought, she rumples the pyjamas up a little, assuming Ava won't examine them _too_ closely to see if they've been worn, and heads downstairs.

In the kitchen, Ava is eating toast, her hair still down, drying, but changed into another pantsuit. She looks up when Sara walks in. “You’re up early. I figured you’d sleep in since you’d left your phone down here.”

Sara notes with unease how observant Ava is. It’s not in itself a bad thing, but she doesn’t like feeling seen. There’s too much _to_ see, if you really look for it. She prefers people who don’t examine her in too much detail, who let her hide behind the facade she puts up. She has a feeling that, if she stays in Charlotte’s life (and, by extension, Ava’s), Ava isn’t going to be the type of person who lets her hide.

She wanders further into the kitchen, shrugs, shrinking into herself. “I always wake up early. Plus, I woke up out of a...” she doesn’t know what to call it? A dream? A nightmare. Nightmare seems too harsh, even if Ava doesn’t know what she’s talking about, so she settles on the former. “A weird dream. Didn’t want to go back to sleep and risk getting that again.”

Ava nods. “Yeah. I didn’t sleep too well, either. Kept replaying realising Charlotte was gone. Woke up right as you turned up with her.”

That admission, that Ava was dreaming about her, if only tangentially, is a little too much, and Sara breaks her gaze, shoves her hands in her pockets, looking around. Ava seems to notice the shift, and she finishes the toast in silence. When she’s done, she looks at Sara. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Sara shakes her head. “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

Frowning, Ava stares at Sara. “That’s not healthy. Breakfast is—”

“Yeah, your daughter already tried to give me the spiel yesterday. I’m not a healthy person.” Ava opens her mouth to say something, but Sara ignores it. “I know you’re not used to having anyone around here that isn’t your kid, but you can’t boss me around.”

Ava looks down. “Sorry, I—” She cuts herself off, looking genuinely ashamed. Sara hadn’t wanted that, had just wanted her to stop trying to look after Sara. Being looked after lulls a person into a false sense of security, stops them from staying sharp.

“No. It’s fine. Just..." Sara looks around, trying to find something to say that will dispel the awkwardness that hangs in the air. “Do you have coffee? I drink coffee.”

“Yeah,” Ava says, looking relieved. “Yeah. I can make you some.”

Sara shakes her head. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just show me the machine. I’ll do it.”

Ava screws up her mouth, pointing behind her. “It’s kinda… finicky.”

“So, fancy?” Sara guesses, the corners of her mouth quirking up.

“Yeah, basically,” Ava says, pressing her lips together, slightly nervous.

“You think I don’t know how to use fancy coffee machines?”

“No, no!” Ava backtracking is a little bit adorable. “I didn’t… mean… that…” she says, slowly, her expression cautious.

Sara moves across the kitchen, examines the machine, then looks at Ava. “Yeah, no, I don’t know how to use this.”

“You!” The word escapes from Ava’s mouth, indignant, as if her reaction was too instinctive to stop it. “You’re terrible.”

Sara just tilts her head, suddenly aware of how close Ava is. She’s not sure if she was that close a second ago, but, now, they’re practically touching. “So I’ve been told.” She pauses, looking at Ava, fighting the urge that tells her to look away. “Do I still get coffee?”

“Yeah,” Ava says, reaching over, placing a mug on the machine, flipping a switch, putting some sort of coffee capsule into a hidden compartment, and then flipping another switch. “You do.” Sara hears a phone buzz, and then Ava’s pulling hers out of her jacket. “Fuck. I have to get this. Milk is in the fridge. Sugar’s up there,” she says, pointing. She wanders away, answering the phone. Sara starts to listen in, her bounty hunter senses kicking in, but after a couple of seconds, it's clear that it's nothing interesting. Just town business.

It’s at that moment that Charlotte bursts into the room. “Mom. Mom. Mom.” Ava turns around at the third repetition, gesturing at her phone. Charlotte keeps going, but turns her voice down to a whisper. “Can you braid my hair?”

Ava starts to move towards her, fitting her phone onto her shoulder, still talking into it, and is halfway across the room when she stops, turns to Sara, obviously remembering that there's more than one adult in the room. “Can you braid hair?” she mouths.

Sara looks wistfully at the coffee that has just beeped, obviously finished, and then looks back at Ava, and nods, because it would be stupid to lie. Obviously she can braid hair. Ava sighs in relief, pushing Charlotte towards Sara. She takes the phone from her shoulder, covers it for a second, then speaks to Charlotte. “Sara’s gonna do your hair, okay, honey? I gotta finish this call.”

Ava disappears out of the room, still talking, her voice getting more urgent.

Charlotte just nods, scooting over to Sara, who examines the angle. She pats one of the stools on the breakfast bar. “Come on. Up here, kid. Let's do this fast. I have coffee to drink.”

Once she's settled, Charlotte hands her a brush. “Can you do them French?”

“Yeah, sure, kid,” Sara says, resigned, almost _feeling_ the coffee going cold. She starts, brushing Charlotte's hair, dividing it up with deft fingers. For a minute, there’s silence, and then she sighs. There's something on her mind, something she has to get out of her system. When she speaks again, her voice is hesitant. “Um. Kid?”

“Yeah?” Charlotte asks, kicking her feet.

“Look. Uh. About your... dad. One day… when you’re older... I’ll tell you about him. Just not yet. If it’s been too much for me to think about, it’s definitely too much for you. I’ll tell you one day. It just... can’t be now. You get that?”

Charlotte bites her lip, then nods. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Okay. Good.”

Once Sara’s done, and Charlotte has had breakfast, she disappears upstairs again. Sara drinks lukewarm coffee. At least it still has caffeine in it. A couple of minutes later, Ava comes back into the room, but she's looking harassed, worried.

“You okay?” Sara asks, crossing her arms, a frown on her face.

She doesn't miss the way Ava's eyes sweep lightly over her, over her arms. There's a slight look of confusion on Ava's face.

“No. I need to go into the office now, but I also have to get Charlotte to school. It's a completely different direction. Usually they're fine with me coming in a bit later, but there's an emergency.” She crosses her arms too, mirroring Sara, and there's panic, worry in her eyes. “And it's too early for school. There'll be no-one in right now. And even if I _could_ take her to school now, I still wouldn't get to work in time for when they need me. In time to put out this fire.”

Sara shrugs. “I can take her.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I can take her. Unless you don't trust me.” It's not a jab, just a genuine caveat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don't have anything planned for the morning.”

Ava's nodding, relief spreading over her face. “Okay. Okay, yeah,” she says, and then she's a whirlwind, pulling Sara with her. She hands Sara keys, and points out lunchboxes and bookbags and the right shoes, and tells her the name of the school and her teacher, and Sara thinks that if she doesn't stop her, Ava’s going to tell her the name of every single classmate.

So she does. “Ava. Stop. It's okay. I'll get her there. And I'll give…” She squints at the note Ava had written while listing the directions to the school, all of which Sara had promptly forgotten. Google Maps exists. The name is at the top of the note. “...Miss Jiwe this note telling her that I haven't in fact kidnapped Charlotte and that you let me drop her off. It'll be fine. You can go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sara confirms.

Ava sighs, then turns towards the stairs, calling out. “Lottie? Sweetie? I'm going now. There's a work emergency. Sara’s going to take you to school. I'll see you this afternoon.”

Charlotte comes barrelling down the stairs, hugging Ava’s waist. “See you after school,” she says, before pulling back, moving towards Sara, obviously not too put out by the arrangement.

Ava looks at them, her expression unreadable, then darts into the office, stuffs more papers into her bag, and is gone, just like that.

“Do you know where my school is?” Charlotte asks.

Sara shakes her head.

“That's okay. I do.”

They leave forty five minutes later. Sara locks the door behind them, finding the right keys after a couple of tries. Charlotte skips ahead, and Sara eventually catches up to her. “Don't go too far. Telling your mom I lost you wouldn't go down well.”

Looking up at her, Charlotte says, “Mom usually holds my hand so I don't run off.”

Sara looks back, quizzical. “You want me to hold your hand? Is that a thing kids do?”

Charlotte considers this for a second, then says, “Yes,” offering her hand to Sara. Sara takes it, because what else can she do? It feels strange. Charlotte's hand is small (obviously), and slightly cooler than Sara’s. She can't remember the last time she held hands with _anyone_.

None of her romantic relationships ever get to hand holding status.

Charlotte looks back up at her. “So you're staying?” she asks, again, as if one trip to school means she's a permanent fixture.

“No.” Sara shakes her head. “Just till you're back from school. And then… after that I guess… I guess I'll visit. I said there’ll be a next time, didn’t I? So I guess now there has to be,” she says, trailing off.

“You guess?”

“I'll make visits,” Sara says, tying herself to a promise.

She should hate it.

She doesn't hate it.

Instead, she imagines the commitment feeling like the girl currently tugging at her hand—a connection, a connection with _weight_ , but one that isn't dragging her down. One that's just… there. Not good or bad, not yet. Just something, something important.

This answer seems to satisfy Charlotte. She talks about school all the way there, endearingly eager to describe every detail. In the playground, there are parents there. They eye Sara, obviously having known that Charlotte had been gone for two days. Charlotte disappears off to talk to friends. Sara briefly wonders what she'll tell them about her, then puts it out of her mind. She has more important things to worry about. She shakes the thought out of her head, and makes a beeline for the woman Charlotte points out as her teacher, handing her the note.

“Sara?” the woman asks, before she even has a chance to read it. “I'm Amaya Jiwe, Charlotte’s teacher.”

“You know who I am?” Sara asks, confused, feeling slightly boxed in.

“Ava called from work. She was worried you'd forget the note, or that I'd be skeptical about it. She explained everything, but, don't worry, you can trust me to keep things private.” Her voice is soothing, calming, and Sara immediately trusts her. She’s beautiful, dark curly hair piled up, wearing a dress with little cartoon animals on it. Her eyes are kind. She has an aura about her that puts Sara at ease.

“Okay. Well. If you… know everything. I'll just… be going. Before the other parents try to apprehend me for kidnapping her.” She pauses. “What will you tell them if they ask?”

“Babysitter?” Amaya suggests.

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose. Thank you,” Sara says, and Amaya nods, smiling.

"It was nice to meet you, Sara," Amaya says, and she sounds like she means it. Not many people mean it when they say that to Sara, but she really sounds like she does.

"Yeah. You too," Sara says, before walking away, taking the out Amaya has given her to end their conversation.

It's at that moment that she sees Ray, towing a child the spitting image of his wife, and remembers that she'd told him who she was. She realises that, even if Amaya isn't going to spill any secrets, it won't be long before everyone knows who she is, so she gives Charlotte one last wave goodbye from across the playground, and gets out of there, as quickly as possible.

She just about remembers the way back without her phone, and is glad for that. It means she doesn't have to stop, make herself a target for anyone who might be curious enough to stop her, ask who this stranger is.

The house, when she gets back, is achingly empty. It's the sort of place that feels like it should have people in it. Her apartment isn't like that. It doesn't have character.

This house has photos, toys strewn around, Charlotte’s drawings up on the wall. One of the doorways into the kitchen has Charlotte’s heights on it. Everything is intensely personal, intensely them. For the first time, Sara truly feels the weight of how much she's intruding. They're not even there, and she feels like she's invading something sacred, just by being there.

She needs something to distract herself, so she decides to check to see if there are any jobs that could be waiting for her back home. She pulls out her phone, but it's not great for doing work stuff. She would've brought her laptop if she'd thought she'd be staying.

Sara wanders into the office. Ava's computer sits there, unused. She settles down into the chair, wiggles the mouse, trying to ignore the feeling of a child sitting in their parent’s chair. It feels too big, too important.

The screen lights up, asking for a password. She clicks around a little, and a guest account pops up, but it’s still password locked. She shakes her head, almost laughing. Of course Ava locks her guest account. Luckily, she has Ava’s number. She pulls the phone back out, typing a text while spinning on the chair, resisting the temptation to put her feet up on Ava’s shiny glass desk.

 _Can I have the password_  
_for the guest account on_  
_ur computer? Want to do_  
_some work._

A typing bubble appears thirty seconds later. Sara gets the feeling Ava is the sort of person who likes to respond to things punctually.

_Charlotte_

The reply isn't more than a word long, but that's all Sara needs. She probably could've guessed that, if she'd tried. She types it in, that strange jealousy forming in her stomach again, jealousy of Ava for having someone to love like that, to come home to, to use as passwords.

_Thanks_

The screen pops up, she opens the browser, and loses herself in work for the next three hours, hardly looking up. This is what she's good at. Not parenting. Not relationships. Hunting down bad guys. She can do that without having to think, so it's a welcome respite.

When she looks up, it's past noon, and her stomach is finally asking for food.

She wonders if she should go out to buy something, or if Ava wouldn't mind her using things out of the fridge, but when she picks up her phone, checking it for the first time in hours, there's another text on the screen.

_Help yourself to  
whatever for lunch. _

Another one had been sent five minutes later.

_If you even eat lunch_

Sara half smiles at that, at the joke. Ignores the feeling stirred inside of her by Ava thinking of her.

She sends a text back.

_Yeah, I eat lunch.  
Do you?_

_Not usually. No time._

Sara looks at the text, slightly surprised. That doesn't seem like an Ava thing to do, but then, she reminds herself, she doesn't know the woman.

She opens the fridge, and there's so much in there, that it seems a shame Ava isn't eating any of it. She looks at the food for a few seconds more, and then, before she knows it, she's made two lots of sandwiches, and is leaving the house again before she can decide that barging in on Ava at work is a bad idea.

Walking back into the centre of town seems like a good way to go. Away from Charlotte's school, back (speedily) past Nora’s bar. She reaches a square. Everything about it is quaint. She stops, looking around. That's her mistake. She stops long enough for a woman to come up to her. Another beautiful woman. This town seems to be nothing but quaint architecture and beautiful women. Sara wonders what Ava would do if she slept with one of her townspeople.

She's peering at Sara, curiosity on her face. “You're Sara Lance, aren't you?” she asks, bluntly.

Sara shrinks backward on automatic. “No,” she says, wondering if it's too late to run away from all this and change her name.

The woman crosses her arms. “Yes you are. Ray said you were blonde, about,” she puts her hand up to Sara’s head, “ _this_ tall, and grumpy. You tick all the boxes.”

“That's not very specific,” Sara says, ignoring the ‘grumpy’ insult, still holding out, still stubborn. “That could be anyone. That could be that woman,” she says, pointing at a blonde down the path, a blonde woman who is walking towards them.

The woman in front of Sara turns. “That's Helen. I know Helen. I don't know _you_ ,” she says, pointing a finger at Sara, looking like she wants to jab it into Sara’s chest. “Just admit you're _her_.”

It's at that moment that the blonde—Helen—reaches them, and gets a hand around Sara’s new friend’s arm. “Zari. Don't interrogate her. She's been through a lot. And she brought Charlotte back. We owe her.” It's like Charlotte's the whole town’s child. Everyone's child but Sara’s.

“Sorry,” Zari mutters to Helen. “But she's _lying_. I hate liars.”

Helen turns to Sara, a beatific smile on her face. “You _are_ her, right?”

It's impossible to resist her. There's something about her, a pull to tell her the truth. Sara sighs. “Maybe? And if I were, could you tell me where A— where the mayor’s office is?”

Helen keeps smiling. Zari mutters something like, “That’s all she had to say,” under her breath, and Helen ignores her.

“In town hall. Over there,” Helen says, pointing at a large building.

“Thanks,” Sara says, moving away, before a hand catches at her arm.

Zari is looking at her, her expression curious. “Did you really trash some rich dude’s yacht?”

“Uh…” Sara can't tell what Zari wants the answer to be. “Yeah. But I was, you know, a lot younger and—”

But Zari’s nodding, approvingly. “That's cool. Those things are disgusting. Excessive.”

“Right,” Sara says. “Yeah. I mean, my yacht-trashing days are behind me now, but. Yeah…” she trails off, awkward.

After a second, Zari drops the hand still on Sara’s arm. “Mayor’s office,” Zari repeats, pointing where Helen had. “That way. Try not to piss her off. People like you piss her off.”

Sara rolls her eyes. She knows that. She takes that statement as her cue to leave, walking across the square as quickly as possible. Inside the building, it's cool, dark. Old. She's in an entrance way. There's an arrow to Ava’s office. She follows it, into the belly of the building, until she reaches a desk. A man sits behind it.

She eyes him, then coughs. He looks up. “Oh. Hi. Can I help you?”

“Is that the Mayor’s office through there?” she asks, pointing at a door beside him.

“Yeah. Do you want to see her? I can make an appointment—”

“No need,” Sara says, striding forward with purpose, before she can chicken out at the last hurdle. “She’ll see me.”

“Are you sure? She usually doesn't like to be disturbed. I can call through and ask,” he says, picking up the phone on his desk.

Sara slams the handset back down onto the base. The sound is loud, echoing through the room, and he jumps. “No need,” she repeats, a sweet smile on her face. She looks down at his desk. There's a name tag there. “She'll see me, _Gary_. Promise.”

Gary eyes her, suspicious, and then something shifts on his face. “Wait. Are you— does she— does she finally have a _girlfriend?”_

 _Huh,_ Sara thinks. _That's one more person who knows._ But clearly not about who Sara is. That she had brought Charlotte back. That she's Charlotte's mother. Ava obviously hadn't told him yet. That's... interesting.

“No, Gary,” Sara says, more dismissive than she means to be, her face twisting. “I'm not her _girlfriend_. I'm just…” her child’s mother. “A friend-friend. But she'll see me,” she finishes, and, before he can protest anymore, she puts a hand on the doorknob, and enters the room.

There's one last faint, “No,” before the door closes behind her.

Ava looks up, immediately. “So that's who Gary was arguing with,” she says, drily, and she almost looks amused.

“I brought lunch,” Sara says, holding the bag up.

Ava's expression turns to one of confusion. “You brought—”

“Lunch,” Sara finishes. “Meal you eat in the middle of day? Before dinner and after breakfast? Lunch?”

“Yes, I'm aware of its existence. But why? I said I don't have time.”

“No time needed. You can eat while you work. The magic of multitasking and having food brought straight to you.”

“Hmm,” Ava says. “What is it?”

“A sandwich. Practically gourmet. Meat, cheese, salad, dressing. All the frills. Even got some bread in there.”

“Yes, I would hope so, Miss Lance,” Ava says, and Sara stops where she is, halfway across the room, at the name.

So she's Sara in front of Charlotte, but back to being Miss Lance when they're on their own. There's… something to that, but she can't quite put her finger on it. She starts her movements again, hoping Ava hadn't notice the momentary pause, before setting the bag on Ava’s desk. There's a chair in front of it, but she doesn't want to settle down in it.

Now that she's there, she's not sure what she'd planned to do. Stay and eat? Leave the bag and run? She'd brought enough for two, though, and Ava makes the decision for her.

“Sit,” she says, handing one of them to Sara, and Sara does, collapsing into the chair.

She unwraps the sandwich, stares at it. “Everyone knows who I am, now. I think Ray told the whole town in the space of an evening.”

“Word tends to travel fast in Starling. As far as I know, we have a Facebook group. Apparently, everyone is very active in it. Mostly it's town news, but I think a lot of it is gossip.”

“You don't know for sure?” Sara asks. “Doesn't seem very mayor-like. I would've thought you'd want to keep an eye on them.”

Ava shakes her head, before taking a bite of the sandwich. When she's done, she looks back up. “I don't like to intrude. If I need something put in there, Gary posts it for me. If I was there, I think everyone would feel a bit like their mom was watching. I don't want that.”

“That sounds… lonely,” Sara says, and that words seems to apply to every part of Ava’s life.

Ava shrugs. “I'm fine. I've got—”

“Charlotte?” Sara suggests, and Ava nods. “Any adult friends?”

“Gary?”

“He works for you.”

“Amaya?”

“Your kid’s teacher? Really? Both of those people are basically paid to be nice to you. One of them _you_ pay.”

Ava screws up her face. “I think Ray likes me.”

“You _think_?”

“I don't drink there very often. He _used_ to be scared of me, but I think we've grown out of that. Or Nora grew him out of it,” she says, correcting herself. “But his kid is Charlotte’s age. We talk sometimes.”

“It sounds like you're lonely,” Sara says, pushing at it in a way that she knows is dangerous, when she's already on thin ice for invading.

“I'm not lonely,” Ava says, and then she turns to her computer, the conversation seemingly over. Two minutes later, though, she turns back to Sara. “I’m not sure you can talk, though. How many friends do _you_ have? Charlotte told me some of the stuff you told her. She didn't mention many friends.”

And, okay, that's fair, but Sara doesn’t want to admit that, so she just takes another bite, says, “I have plenty,” lying through her teeth.

“Hmm,” is all Ava says.

There’s silence while they both finish the food. When they’re done, Ava gathers up the wrappers, cleaning crumbs off the desk. She picks up the phone. “Gary? Can you give Miss Lance a tour of the place? I’m busy.”

Gary bursts in. “This is Miss Lance?” he asks, pointing at Sara.

“Yes, Gary. This is Miss Lance.” She says it in a way that makes it sound like she wishes Sara were anyone else. Someone less stubborn, less abrasive. More agreeable.

“This way, then,” he says, ushering Sara out of the room.

Sara looks back at Ava as she goes. “I’m going?”

“Yes,” Ava says, without looking up. “You are. That’s all.” Her voice is dismissive, her actions—not even watching Sara go—even more so. With the crumbs and wrappers tidied away, there’s no evidence Sara was even there.

Or, maybe there is, because as Ava stares resolutely at her computer, Sara notices the smallest flick of her eyes, the smallest glance at the doorway—Ava watching her leave, something unreadable on her face.

Discomfort, maybe, at being challenged like that, but Sara can’t be sure, because Gary is whisking her out of there, and talking about the building, eagerness in his voice, but Sara’s not listening. She might be required to listen to Charlotte talk, might have to make an effort to communicate with Ava—but her duties don’t extend to humoring her child’s mother’s assistant. She lets him talk, though, the droning of his voice a nice background accompaniment to the tour, this space that is the other place Ava inhabits.

She doesn’t need to know who built it, or when. She needs to know more about the woman who dictates what the City Hall looks like, and she can get that just from observing. How it’s clean, bright, obviously well-kept up. How parts of it are modernised, but only the necessary areas. Nothing is extravagant. Nothing is unnecessary. Everything is just exactly as much as it needs to be, and nothing more.

That tells her all she needs to know about Ava. That she is practical to a tee, intelligent enough to spot what needs doing and what doesn’t, driven enough to get things done, but not excessive. Not the sort of person who runs away with a success, does any more than needs to be done.

Dependable. Logical. But in a way… almost… clinical. If Sara hadn’t seen Ava at home with Charlotte, she might not have believed her capable of emotion.

As it is, she has, and it’s clear that the mask Ava brings down is exactly that—a carefully practiced, almost impenetrable, well-worn mask—but a mask all the same.

Sara knows a thing or two about masks. It feels like she’s been wearing one since the yacht crashed, like no-one’s truly known her. Nyssa got closest, but Sara had had to make herself someone else in prison, someone harder even than her true self, to survive.

Nyssa only got under that a few times. Sara had been too scared to let her see the truth more than a few times.

She’s kept it on since then.

She has the uncomfortable feeling again that, if she’s really going to become a part of Charlotte’s life, of Ava’s life, of _their_ life, then, eventually, it’s going to get ripped away, and the thought is too much. Suddenly, she can’t breathe. The walls feel like they’re tightening, and she has to get out of there. She’s racing through corridors until she finds the entrance, bursting out into the cold air, and, finally, oxygen reaches her lungs again. She leans on her knees, gasping, and then, for the second time that day, she’s escaping.

Gary exits the building behind her, and she hears something like, “But you didn’t see the gift shop!” before she’s out of earshot.

She hardly even remembers the walk back to Ava’s house. She hardly even remembers opening the door with shaky hands, sitting down in their living room.

 

All she knows is that, suddenly, time has passed, and Ava is opening the door, Charlotte in tow. When she sees Sara, something like relief passes over her face. She crouches down to Charlotte. “Go upstairs, honey. Mommy needs to talk to Sara.”

“How long is she staying?”

“I don’t know, baby.”

Sara hears Charlotte go upstairs, and then Ava is in front of her.

“Thank God you’re here.”

“What?” That finally snaps Sara out of it, looking up into Ava’s eyes, and they’re filled with worry.

“You just ran out of there. Gary couldn’t see where you went. You weren’t answering your phone, or the house phone. I thought maybe you’d left. When I saw your car, I—” She stops herself. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Sara looks down at the phone still in her hand. She vaguely remembers buzzing and ringing and messages flashing up. “Oh,” she says. “I didn’t realise. I didn’t—”

Ava sits down. “How often are you like this?” Her voice is calming, soothing, and Sara can feel Ava trying to fix her.

Anger bubbles up before any other reaction. “Like what?” she shoots back, everything coming back into focus.

Jerking back slightly, Ava’s face twists into an expression of hurt. “I don’t— Like—" She pauses, and then seems to regain her confidence, spitting the words out. "Like sitting in the same place for three hours and not hearing _anything_.”

“How do you know I’ve been in the same place for three hours?” Sara asks, even though she has, she has, it’s been three hours and it felt like minutes.

Ava points at the floor. “Because you tracked mud into the room, and it stops where you’re sitting.”

Sara lifts her heel up. There’s mud on the sole. She hadn’t even noticed. "Not often. This doesn't happen often." Never, really. She's never experienced anything that got her in quite as much of a state as these past three days have, not since she had Charlotte. She's felt more emotions in the past few days than she has in years. "I'm sorry." She stands up. “I need to go. I’ll say goodbye to Charlotte and then I have to go. I know I said maybe a couple of days but I— I can’t.”

“You’re safe to drive?” Ava asks. She doesn’t challenge it. It’s like she knew that Sara wouldn’t be staying much longer. Sara is glad for that, at least.

“Yes. I’m fine.” Or, at least, once she gets out of there, she will be.

“Okay,” Ava says, but she doesn’t look convinced. She walks out of the room, calls Charlotte down. A minute later, Charlotte reappears.

“You’re going?” she asks, but her expression tells Sara she already knows the answer. 

“Yeah, kid. But I’ll be back. Promise.” She’ll be back. Once she unfucks her head, once the thought of getting close to them doesn’t send her into a blind panic.

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Soon?”

“What counts as soon?” Sara asks.

Charlotte considers. “Before my birthday.”

“March, right?” Charlotte nods. “Okay. Before March. Promise.”

Charlotte holds out her hands, and Sara crouches down, lets herself be hugged. Once again, she’s struck by how fragile the girl is. How small. And yet how, on the other hand, she seems unbreakable, Sara’s DNA and Ava’s care mixing together to create something resilient. “Thanks for coming,” she whispers.

“Yeah. No problem, Lottie,” Sara says.

Charlotte squeezes her one last time, then disappears into another room, so it’s just her and Ava.

“Before March?” Ava asks.

Sara looks down. “Yeah. I’ll try my hardest. Hopefully earlier than that.”

“Okay.” Ava nods. “Okay. Stay in contact.”

“Yeah.” Sara moves towards the door, feels keys jangling in her pocket. She goes to hand them back, and Ava refuses them.

“No. Keep them. That way you have to come back.”

Sara pockets them again. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Ava opens the door for her. Sara steps outside. Everything feels strange. When she reaches her car, she gets in, and hears the door to the house shut. But she’s pretty sure she sees Ava in the living room window, watching as she drives off.

Once she’s out of the town, following directions back home, everything finally washes over her. She has a kid, she’s agreed to regularly see that kid, and everything is going to change. It’s so much, too much, and if she thinks about it, she’s not going to be able to drive, so she turns up the music until it’s too loud to think, and speeds all the way back to Star City, getting there just before midnight.

She lets herself back into the apartment. The bed where Charlotte had slept is unmade. There’s still a dent in the shape of her.

There’s a dent in the shape of her in Sara’s heart, and she’s aching, and she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to do with all these feelings. Everything is so much, so overwhelming, and if she thinks about it, it _hurts._ So she doesn't. She falls asleep fully dressed, but she only manages five hours of sleep before waking up again, those feelings still drowning her, and so, after an hour of deliberation, she does what she’s wanted to do for years, what she hasn’t had a good enough reason to do for years.

She picks up the phone, and dials Laurel’s number, praying Laurel hasn’t changed it. It’s been a long time since they talked. After ten rings, ten rings that Sara counts out, Laurel picks up. “Laurel Lance speaking. Who is this?”

Sara has changed her number what seems like dozens of times.

“Laurel. Hi. It’s me. Sara. Don’t hang up. I know it’s been a long time but. I need you. I need help. I need so much help. I wouldn’t call but I— I don’t know how to deal with this on my own. Don’t be mad.”

“Sara?” Laurel’s voice is disbelieving. It’s not angry, like Sara had expected, but relieved. “Oh thank God. Of course I’m not _mad_. I’ve been trying to find you for years. Every time I thought I had, you moved. What’s wrong, babe? Let me help. How can I help?”

All the tension in Sara’s body melts away at the sound of her sister’s voice. Of course she’s not mad anymore. She should never have stayed away this long. She almost wishes she’d driven the half an hour into Star City instead of straight home, but she’d done it now.

“Well,” Sara says, wondering where to start. “What do you know about nine-year-olds?”

She hears Laurel take a deep breath. "Not much. Why?"

Sara sighs. "I have a kid. I just met her for the first time in almost ten years."

For a second, for thirty seconds, Laurel is silent, obviously processing. "Holy shit, Sara. That's... a lot."

"Yeah. I know." Sara suddenly doubts herself. "If it's... if it's too much, I don't have to... you don't have to hear this. I know I don't have any right to just... call you up out of the blue and dump this on you, but I didn't know who else to call."

"No. Honey. That's not what I meant. You can talk. Of course you can. Talk to me, Sara. Just give me a second. I just need to sit down."

Sara waits, waits for Laurel to give her the sign to start talking, and then she does. They talk the entire morning, Sara spilling everything, every detail of the past ten years, until there’s nothing more to say. She doesn’t leave a single thing out, not about Oliver, about them, nothing. Laurel guesses almost immediately how he's related to Charlotte. Really, there’s no-one else it could’ve been, but she’s not angry about it, and that's more than a relief. Apparently, he’d disappeared on a cruise to ‘better himself’ and come back even more insufferable than before. It doesn’t seem Laurel loses any sleep about Sara stealing him away anymore. They’re both better off without him.

Sara doesn’t even feel tired, despite the fact that she’s had hardly any sleep. In fact, she feels raring to go, suddenly feeling like, with Laurel’s help, she could do anything. Like she might be able to face this hurdle, and not fuck it up, irrevocably.

It gets to 11am, and they’ve been talking practically half the day, when Laurel says, “I’m flying down.”

“What?”

“I’m coming to see you, Sara. You shouldn’t have to deal with this on your own.”

“No,” Sara protests. “That’s too much. I’ll see you when I next visit them.”

“March?” Sara can almost hear Laurel raising her eyebrow. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I’ve already found a flight. I’m landing this evening.”

“The cost—”

“I’ve got air miles. I’m coming.”

“Laurel—”

“End of discussion, babe. I’m coming. I’m gonna help you get through this.”

When Laurel eventually hangs up to pack, Sara breaks down, crying. Four days ago she didn’t have a family, and now, maybe, she has two. One and a half. One, made up of two halves. A sister, and a child and… her child’s mother.

Laurel lands, and Sara meets her there, and when she hugs her, it feels like coming home. She looks the same, just older, wiser. There’s a smile on her face wider than the sun. “I always knew you’d come back, Sara. I told them. I told them you’d come back when you needed to. And you have.”

“I’m not— back. I’m still— hundreds of miles away.”

Laurel waves this away. “What’s distance with phones and computers and skype? I'm We know where you are, now, and that’s the most important thing.”

They drive back to Sara’s apartment. When they get there, Laurel orders pizza, puts on a movie, and it’s exactly what Sara needs after a morning of talking. Once the food arrives, they settle down onto the couch, and Laurel pulls her in, her hand in Sara’s hair, keeping her close. “We’re going to figure this out, Sara. Promise. We’re gonna get you through this.”

With Laurel, Sara believes her. She was the only person Sara had ever completely and utterly trusted, and when she speaks, Sara believes her.

Two hours later, the movie ends, and they haven’t moved from where they are, Sara’s head on Laurel’s shoulder.

“Sara?”

“Yeah?”

Laurel speaks slowly. “Can I ask you one thing?”

“Yeah. Anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me anything about her mother?”

Sara wasn't expecting that. “What?” she asks, confused.

“You didn’t say anything about Charlotte’s mother. You told me she had one, you mentioned vaguely that you'd argued and that you'd gone to her office the next day, and that’s it.”

Sara scoffs, pulling away. “No— No I didn’t. I told you all about her. I told you everything about the past couple of days.”

“You didn’t tell me _anything_ about her, Sara. I don’t even know her name.”

“I don’t—” Sara’s still confused, sure she had gone through everything. “Ava. I told you about Ava, right?”

Laurel shakes her head. “No, babe. Nothing.” Her face is understanding. “Why, Sara?”

Sara doesn’t know what to say. She knows exactly why her mind had blocked Ava out, why it had concentrated on Charlotte. Charlotte, compared to Ava, is easy. She’s non-negotiable, now. She’s in Sara’s life, whether Sara wants that, or not, and their relationship is easily definable. Her relationship with Ava, on the other hand. It’s nebulous, and terrifying, and even after a day with her, Sara is utterly utterly shaken by it, by what it could be, by what it should be, by what, if she admits it to herself, she wants it to be. What she had told Charlotte it would never be, what she and Ava had _agreed_ it would never be.

“Because she scares me,” Sara admits, and her voice is small. “Because I’m scared I’m going to mess everything up for Charlotte.”

“How?” Laurel asks. “What does her mother scaring you have to do with it? If you don’t like her, that doesn’t matter. She seems willing to let you in. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s not that I don’t like her.” Sara shuffles further away, lowering her voice even more. “It’s that I think I might like her _too_ much.”

For a second, there is confusion on Laurel’s face, and then it clicks what Sara is saying, and Sara has to fight the urge to run away at the admission. “Oh, honey. Come here.”

Sara lets herself be pulled back in. She speaks again. “It doesn’t— It doesn’t matter. She’s never going to want me like that. She wouldn’t put Charlotte in danger like that. But I’m terrified I’m going to fuck up. Fuck, I already have. I practically flirted with her.”

“So she’s...” Laurel trails off, but the meaning is obvious.

“Yeah,” Sara sighs. “She is. And single. And beautiful. And, of course, completely out of bounds.” Talking about it makes it easier. Putting a name to the feeling in her chest makes it a tiny bit less scary. Talking about it instead of denying it.

“Okay, Sara, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve known her, what, a day? Maybe this will go away.”

“It won’t,” Sara says, gloomily, because there’s just something telling her it won’t. She hardly knows the woman, but it just feels… permanent. “I mean, we spent most of the time arguing but… it won’t. I know that. I’m stuck like this.”

Laurel shakes her head. “That won’t work, babe. If you go into this like that, it’s not going to work. You’ve gotta move on, or figure out if there’s ever a chance for you two.”

“There isn’t,” Sara says, sure of that.

“Then you have to move on,” Laurel says.

Sara knows it’s the truth. She has to. There’s no other option. “Yeah,” she sighs. “Yeah, I do.”

“But first, you need to tell me about her. Get it all out.”

So Sara does, the words pouring out. Every conversation, every argument, every look. Everything. When she’s done, it’s late, and she missed an entire night of sleep, so she’s falling asleep on her couch. Laurel seems to decide to leave her there, tucking a blanket over her. Sara sleeps, and dreams of Ava, again.

Ava has gotten under her skin, hooked Sara deep in her stomach, and now they’re tied together until Sara can find someone else, anyone else, and break that string.

 

Laurel wakes Sara up with coffee. Sara takes it, looks up at her. “How long are you staying?”

“Till lunch. I have to fly back this afternoon. I’ve got a deposition in the evening that I can’t miss.”

Sara gasps. “Laurel. You shouldn’t have come.”

Laurel looks at Sara. “Babe. Of course I was going to come. You’re my sister. You’ll always be my sister. I’m just so glad you called. We’re all so glad to have you back.”

“We?” Sara asks, not daring to believe.

“We. Me and Mom and Dad. They just want you back. They’ve wanted you back for years.”

It’s too much all at once, and Sara finally cries, everything pouring out of her. Laurel takes the coffee, collapses on the couch next to her. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. We’ve got you.”

Her family wants her back. “They’re not mad at me anymore?”

“No, honey.” Laurel wipes hair out of Sara’s face. “They’re not mad. Whenever you want to come home. They’re there.” She pauses. “Although… Mom and Dad. They’re not… they’re not together anymore.”

“Because of me?”

“No. Well. Partly. You leaving put a lot of stress on them, but it just showed the fractures. You didn’t cause _those_. They were already there. They’re better apart, I promise. But they both want to see you. Whenever. Just turn up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Sara,” Laurel says.

Sara feels a little more at peace. Enough at peace that letting Laurel go isn’t hard, because she knows she’s seeing her again.

The apartment doesn’t feel quite as empty. The echo of both them—Charlotte _and_ Laurel—lingers, but it doesn’t hurt quite as much. She spends the afternoon cleaning, wanting to something, _anything_ with her hands to keep herself distracted. In the evening, when she lands, Laurel texts, sends Sara her parents’ numbers.

 

For the next week, she psychs herself up to call them, all the while picking up the pieces of her life, piecing them together, trying to turn herself into someone who could be good for Charlotte. After a week, she manages to press call on the numbers, and it goes… well. Somehow, it goes well.

She talks to them, and they don’t hate her. She doesn’t tell them everything, but she tells them enough, and she comes out of it with an open invitation to go home, whenever, just like Laurel had said.

The talk gives her enough confidence to finally call Ava.

Ava picks up, and she sounds… happy. “Sara! You called!”

She doesn't know if Charlotte is around, or if Ava’s back to calling her Sara when it's just them, but something twists in her stomach at the sound of her first name coming from Ava’s mouth.

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

“No, but… it’s been a week. I... wondered.”

Sara swears internally. She shouldn't have waited that long. Ava had obviously been worried, had been waiting. “I had… things to sort out. But I’m doing good. A lot better, actually. I made a tough decision, and it paid off. Things are better.”

“Really? That’s great.” Ava sounds genuinely happy for her, and something flutters in Sara’s stomach. She ignores it.

 “I’m going to be able to come back before March. It should be soon. Not this weekend, but maybe— Maybe the weekend after? If that would work.”

“I— Yeah. Yeah. Huh. I didn’t expect you so soon,” Ava says, trailing off.

“If you don’t want me, then I can wait. Or if you can’t have me. It’s fine, really.”

“No! No. That’s not what I meant. You can come back. I just— Things are better? You’re okay to come back? You’re not going to freak out like last time?”

“I didn’t—”

“You freaked out, Sara.”

“Okay,” Sara admits. “I freaked out. But, no. It’s not going to happen again. I promise.”

“Then you can come back any time,” Ava says. “Just let me know when you’re coming. Was there anything else you wanted?”

“No,” Sara says. _Yes. How do I stop feeling like I have a crush on you._ “No, that's it.”

“Okay. Great. So I can tell her you're coming back soon, then?”

“Yeah, you can," Sara says, feeling content.

“Just, let me know when you decide to come. Text, call, whatever.”

“Yeah, Ava,” Sara says, her voice softer than she intended. “I will. I'll talk to you soon.”

“I… look forward to it,” Ava says, and then she's gone. Sara tries not to read too much into it, and fails.

 

But, after that, things change. She starts texting Ava, and Ava starts texting back, telling her about Charlotte. She calls, and actually talks to Charlotte, listens to her talk about her day, and enjoys it. She starts actually learning the names of her classmates.

And Ava’s greeting gets more and more welcoming each time she picks up the phone, her, “Hey,” getting softer each time, each time Sara proves that she's keeping up with this, that she's not running away.

 

And then, three weekends after she'd left Starling, Sara drives back for the first time. She leaves early Friday afternoon, gets there in the evening. Charlotte is already asleep, and she doesn't talk to Ava much, just greets her, and goes straight to bed, dreaming of her and Charlotte when she falls asleep, like she does every night.

She spends most of the weekend with Charlotte, pointedly avoiding alone time with Ava, but that's the whole point of these trips, so it shouldn't be suspicious. Their only time alone is on the Saturday evening, when Ava brings out drinks after Charlotte has gone to sleep.

It finally feels like the right time to talk about her family. The calls before had been, rightfully, about Charlotte. Now, Sara can actually talk.

Ava seems genuinely happy for her, but occasionally something passes over her face. Sara tries to guess the cause. “I'm not— I won't abandon you two because I've got them back. If anything, I'll come here more often. They live in Star City.” This seems to ease Ava’s concern, the concern she isn't voicing, but that's obviously there, but only slightly. “This is good, Ava. I promise.”

“Yeah,” Ava says, but it's distracted. “Yeah, I believe you.”

She's still not okay, but Sara doesn't dare push it further, so she just says goodnight, leaves to her room to wonder.

Sunday is spent with Charlotte, getting tugged around Starling. Sara stops caring about the stares. They're there. Everyone knows. But luckily, no-one dares approach her when she's with Charlotte. Maybe Ava had threatened them into silence. Whatever it is, Sara's grateful, grateful that she's able to let Charlotte show her her favourite places in peace.

She leaves after dinner on Sunday, with a promise to come back as soon as possible—and then she drives onto Star City, and sees her parents for the first time in ten years.

Things aren't quite as easy as they were with Laurel. They don't click quite as quickly. But, eventually, things settle. The unease falls away. Things aren’t ever going to go back to how they were before, but, slowly, things feel slightly more normal.

By the end of the next day, when she drives home, she feels… okay, which is better than she’s felt in years. Or, at least, she feels  _almost_ okay, as long she doesn't think about how she'd _felt_ it every time Ava looked at her, how her heart has sped up every time Ava called her by her first name, how every second they were alone felt electrifying in the most frightening of ways.

If she doesn't think about how she's _definitely_ got more than a crush on her.

How she’s falling head-first into something that terrifies her.

How, if she’s being honest, that—when it comes to Ava—she's not okay at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just like, pre-warning you. the timeline of this fic is.... slightly strange. apparently i can either write thousands and thousands of words about a particular day/couple of days or nothing at all. anyway, there aren't any days that take up... quite as much real estate as these first three days (plus those three weeks that passed in three paragraphs do you see what I mean about how much I can write about things) did, promise. 
> 
> Aaand surprise Laurel! She wasn't originally in the fic but the story goes where it goes, and this isn't the last you'll see of her! But like, pre-warning, I haven't watched arrow in a while, and I was Wrong and didn't pay enough attention to her when I did, so if she's OOC, that's why. Anyway. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are ready for a roller-coaster over the next four chapters, because this is where things PICK THE HELL UP. also this one is hecka long so you might need a little bit of time to read it

Sara goes back for Charlotte’s birthday. Not her party, with all of her friends, because explaining Sara is hard enough for adults, let alone nine-year-olds, but she visits after, brings a present that Ava had assured Sara she’d like, helps Ava bake a cake, and it’s… it’s nice.

Ava seems slightly surprised when Sara turns up with the right ingredients, the ingredients she’d specifically asked Sara to bring, and Sara laughs. “I know I’m supposed to be the washed up disaster, but I can actually follow a grocery list, you know?” she says, a mock frown on her face.

Ava ducks her head, looking slightly ashamed, and Sara laughs again, a smile breaking on her face. “I’m _teasing_ , Ava. I’m actually usually terrible at grocery shopping. I get distracted. You’re lucky I have everything.”

Strictly, she’s supposed to be helping Ava bake the cake, but, really, she’s just watching, occasionally doing something when Ava tells her to. That works. It works when she’s not pushing at their relationship, when she’s just doing what Ava says. At one point, Ava gets flour in her hair, on her face. Sara wants to reach up, wipe it away, and she’s got her hand raised, moving to do that, before she stops, abruptly. Ava looks at her, quizzical. “You okay?”

Sara manages to turn the hand movement into a gesture, pointing at the white spots on Ava’s skin. “You’ve got some flour. Yeah. There.”

She wonders what touching Ava there would feel like, and then pushes the thought away, asking Ava with more force than necessary if there’s something, _anything_ , she can do. Something to distract her. Ava frowns at the sudden change in her voice, but gives her something to do.

A couple of hours later, the moment is mostly forgotten. Sara just has to hope Ava didn’t guess anything, but Ava isn’t treating her any differently, and they relax back into their normal parts, and everything is okay.

 

After that, after that _moment_ that had been too close for Sara to _feeling_ something, to _wanting_ something, she makes sure their relationship becomes one of arm's-length friendship. They’re civil. She tries not to argue with Ava, not after that first day. Sara keeps her emotions in check when it comes to the Sharpes, and Ava reciprocates. If Ava has an opinion about something Sara is doing with Charlotte, or how she’s doing it, Sara doesn’t argue, mostly just acquiesces, because it’s easier than pushing, and Ava is almost always right, anyway.

They get into a routine. She starts visiting once or twice every month. Most of the time, she lets Ava tell her what to do. Lets Ava dictate what she does with Charlotte, because she doesn’t know anything, and she doesn’t want to rock the boat. Sometimes, though, she suggests things, as time passes, and she gets to know Charlotte a little better.

Every time she hits the mark, suggests something Ava knows Charlotte would like, Ava gets this look. Like she’s… proud. A smile on her face, her expression softening, minutely.

Like when Sara sits in her office, Charlotte asleep, worn out from the day they’d just had, and she looks up from where she’d been scrolling her phone, looks up at Ava. “Does Charlotte like that… you know that painting pottery shit? That’s something kids like, right? We could do that. I don’t know… it just seems like the sort of thing she’d like.”

Ava pulls her gaze away from her work, her expression momentarily startled, as if she’d forgotten Sara was there. That’s another thing that slightly terrifies Sara. They’ve gotten used to each other too quickly, too easily. It’s become a routine, Sara in Ava’s office, usually drinking, in the evenings of days she visited. Ava always has work, but never seems to mind having Sara in there, seems to think that it’s important they spend _some_ time together, and Sara isn’t going to say no, especially once it becomes clear that Ava is so good at absorbing herself in her work that Sara rarely distracts her. She’s glad that their designated time together is time where so little interaction is required. It works for both of them.

At Sara’s words, there’s that _smile_ on Ava’s face. “Yeah. She actually really likes that. I never manage to get around to taking her. You should do that.”

Sara nods, looks back down,

The next time she visits, she takes Charlotte out, and Charlotte paints a bowl, utterly terribly, but so terribly that Sara finds it endearing. Or maybe it’s just because it’s her kid, and everything she does seems a little like a miracle.

Charlotte shows it to Ava, and she seems genuinely impressed, genuinely pleased with what Charlotte had done, and Sara starts as she realises that she was too. That, sure, it was terribly done, but she’d immediately loved it.

 

They get into one more argument, a few visits in. It had been a long week. A mark didn't go easily, and Sara's tired, pissed off, and when Ava comments, a little too haughtily, about how she should try to get in a better mood before she sees Charlotte in the morning, Sara snaps.

“God. I’m fucking here, aren’t I? What more can you ask of me?” Her voice is raised loud. Too loud.

“For you not to be in a foul mood around my daughter,” Ava shoots back, not even slightly ashamed.

Sara rolls her eyes, sitting back in her chair, her arms crossed. “Sometimes adults aren’t in great moods. She’s not two. She knows that. You can’t shelter her from that. If she’s going to be in my life, she can’t have some false idea that I’m always in a perfect mood, because I’m _not_. It’s going to hurt her more if we pretend that.”

“I’m not trying to _pretend_ anything. I just don’t want you like this in front of her.”

Sara stands up, and Ava blinks, her eyes getting wider as Sara moves across the room, until she’s in front of Ava’s chair. With Ava sitting, it’s the only time Sara ever has any height on her.

“ _You_ ,” she says, jabbing a finger at Ava, “wanted me to stay. You _begged_ me to. And I _want_ to, now. I want to keep visiting. I’m glad I stayed. But I have to do it on my own terms. I’m not going to pretend like I’m never in a bad mood. I’m not going to pretend to be some sort of fucking angel because you want me to. I’m not going to purposely hurt her, but I’m not going to fucking shield her. And, look. I agreed to come this weekend. I’ve been in a rut this whole week but I agreed to come and I wasn’t going to let you down. And you know what?”

“What?” Ava asks, her voice wary, her eyes searching Sara's face for answers.

“I _would’ve_ sorted out my mood before I saw her. You didn’t have to tell me that.”

Ava looks up, her expression exasperated. “Then why the fuck did you cause such a fuss, Sara? If you were going to do what I wanted anyway? Why are you _pushing_ like this?” It’s then that she finally stands up as well, into Sara’s space. Imposing, as always. Sara takes a step back without even thinking about it.

Sara looks away. “I wanted you to trust me to do the right thing. I don’t need you telling me what to do. Treating me like I’m a kid. I’ll take your suggestions on things to do with her. I’ll listen to you then. I just… I don’t want you telling me how to behave. I want you to trust me on that. I want you to trust me,” Sara says, and the anger is gone, and all that's left is honesty. Laying her cards on the table. That she wants Ava to trust her, to believe in her.

All the fight goes out of Ava's body. “Oh,” she says, and her voice is small. She’s fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

Sara sighs.“Can you just trust me that I’m going to try to make the right decisions? For her?”

There's silence for a moment. Sara can hear their breathing. Ava looks up, right into Sara's eyes, doesn't break eye contact as she speaks. “Yeah, Sara. I can.”

 

For the next week after that visit, they tiptoe around each other. They'd reached a détente, but, through the rest of the weekend, things are still awkward, and they stay awkward even after Sara leaves. Their texts are short. They don’t speak on the phone.

And then, at the end of the week, Ava calls up, and apologises, her voice soft. “You were right. I'm sorry. I didn't apologise properly then, and I should've, because I shouldn't have said what I said. I need to... accept that I can't protect her from everything, can't shield her from everything, you know? And i especially shouldn't be shielding her from you. That's not my place. And the thing is, I _know_ you weren’t… purposely trying to hurt her. I just… it’s just my instinct to try to stop her from coming across anything that might. You understand that, right?”

Sara nods, then remembers she’s on a phone call. “Yeah. I understand. But, thank you. For calling. I felt… it felt weird not talking to you.”

And it had. They’d gotten into a routine of visits, but also of phone calls almost every day of the week. Updates and chances to talk to Charlotte, chances to get to know each other at a safe distance. Sara had hated missing out on that, more than she thought she possibly could.

Ava is silent for a second, then replies, “It felt weird not talking to you, too. That’s why I called. It felt wrong. I kinda hated it.” She pauses. “I like talking to you, Sara.”

“I like talking to you, too,” Sara says. The words are too vulnerable though, too close to talking about _their_ relationship, and so she takes a deep breath, and steers the conversation somewhere safer: Charlotte. “What have I missed this week. With her?”

She can almost hear Ava smiling, can almost hear her relaxing. “Quite a bit. You want to hear about it?”

Sara sits down, tucks her legs underneath herself on her couch. Settles in. “Yeah. I do.”

“How much?”

“Everything, Ava.”

Ava talks for an hour, Sara hardly even needing to speak. By the time they end the call, the ugliness is forgotten.

 

The next time she visits, Ava is ill. Not dangerously so, just coughing and sneezing, and it feels mean to take Charlotte out and leave her, like she normally does, so, despite Ava’s protests— “I’m _fine_ , honestly, you can go”— they stay home.

Sara looks down at Charlotte as she loops her coat on the rack. “You cool staying in, kid?”

Charlotte nods, and they spend the rest of the day at the house, playing every board game under the sun, stopping every once in a while so that Charlotte can fuss over Ava in a way that’s more than adorable, dragging Sara around the house finding things that Ava needs.

Ava doesn’t take part in much of their, just sits on the couch, feet away, obviously content to do nothing while she’s ill, to just be near them.

Every so often, Sara catches Ava watching her with that same soft expression.

Later, when Charlotte is in bed, they sit, alone. Sara has the glass of whiskey that seems to be a given for their time alone, now. Ava has a mug of tea, steadfastly refusing to mix alcohol with her cold medicine, to disobey the instructions. Ava takes a sip, then speaks. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here. I wouldn’t have been able to keep her occupied.”

Sara tilts her head, pursing her lips in question. “But she liked looking after you. She takes after you, that way.”

Ava smiles, but shakes her head. “She likes looking after me for _some_ of the time. She would’ve gotten bored if that’s all she had to do all day. I’m glad you were here.”

“So you’re glad we didn’t go out and leave you?” Sara asks.

Ava nods. “Yeah. I guess I am. It’s nice watching you two.” She pauses, coughing. “You know, I— I never thought, after that first day, that you’d be this… good. But you are. You’re good with her. Really good. I’m sorry. I underestimated you. I’m sorry.” The apology is without pretense, bold-faced and honest. Ava’s been nothing but apologies lately, but for this… she doesn’t need to apologise.

Something in Sara’s stomach flips, but she ignores that, waves Ava’s words away. “Don’t apologise. I was an asshole that first day. You were right to be worried. You were right to be… like you were. I needed someone to yell me into submission. Otherwise I _would’ve_ just run away and never come back.” It hurts to admit, but she would’ve. “I would’ve done that. You stopped me. You _and_ her.”

Both of them, equally, had stopped her. By being so much more than she had ever thought they could be.

“So you’re… you’re still happy she found you?” Ava asks, obviously nervous, her fingers tapping against the side of her mug.

“Yeah,” Sara says, and it’s true. “I am.”

Ava smiles, relieved, as if, until now, she wasn’t quite sure whether Sara actually still wanted to be seeing them, as if Sara driving across the country on the regular, to be spending days with them every couple of weeks wasn't enough of an indication. “Good. Good. Because I— I don’t know, Sara. I feel like I’ve started to… rely on you. I’m not sure what I’d do without you. Is that bad?”

“No,” Sara says, quietly, because, in truth, she’s started to rely on them as well. “That’s not bad.”

 

Sometimes, if Charlotte is on vacation, or if there’s a dry spell with work, she’ll visit every two weeks. Over the summer, it becomes almost regular, because the holidays are long, and Charlotte is bored. Sara’s more than happy to do the drive, because, after six months with this child, she’s in deep, would probably do anything for her.

Even take her to the beach, something she has resolutely refused to do for years, partly because she has no-one to go with, partly because it brings back memories of her family that she’d rather not deal with, partly because, up until Charlotte, she’d hated being around kids—and partly because there’s a number of scars on her body that she’d rather hide. But, one weekend she visits, Charlotte wants nothing more than to go, so Ava _and_ Sara are dragged out there, Sara packing the one swimming costume she owns, putting it on reluctantly under her clothes.

The sun is hot when they get there, and there’s no excuse to stay in the clothes she’s wearing. Before she changes, though, she pulls Ava aside. “Look. I’ve got… I’ve got scars. From prison. I got in fights. Some of them were… pretty bad. I was young and I was stupid and didn’t have much of a regard for my health. So there's scars from then, and then there’s some from my job. People don’t like being arrested. They kick up a fight. I don’t know what you want to tell her, but they’re gonna be pretty obvious.”

Ava screws up her mouth. “How obvious is obvious?”

Sara lifts up the hem of her shirt. There’s a scar across her stomach, a glaring white line across the skin, a couple of inches across. “That’s probably the worst one. But there’s others. A couple here,” she says, tapping her midriff, “that, uhh, nearly killed me. More on my side. A few on my legs.”

“Nearly _killed_ you?” Ava asks, her voice low but still aghast, zoning in on the injury Sara had tried to skip over. Charlotte looks over, obviously hearing Ava’s tone if not her words, and Ava smiles back, weakly, clearly trying to rearrange her expression into something less worrying. Sara was hoping that Ava would ignore the fact that she had nearly died from one of them. Most of the time, that's what she tries to do.

She shrugs. “I was a fighty asshole of a twenty-year old, Ava. People didn’t like that. But, like, it was _one_ time.”

"One time that you nearly _died_ , Sara!" Sara just shrugs again, trying to remain nonchalant, because she knows by now that's the only way to keep Ava from spiralling. Ava sighs, her hand going to her neck, then to her head, shrugging with a flick of her fingers. “I guess… I guess you tell her the truth. That you got into fights. She knows you were in prison. She knows what happens in there. Just don’t let her know you almost _died_ from some of these. And don’t make it sound cool. I don’t want her thinking this sort of thing is cool.”

Sara almost laughs, but settles her expression into one that's understanding, instead. “Yeah, no, don’t worry, Ava. I’ll make sure she knows _not_ to get into fights when she’s in prison.”

Ava rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You’re terrible.”

When Sara eventually shrugs out of her shirt, Charlotte zones in on the scars almost immediately, her face concerned. “Prison?” she asks, figuring it out quickly, her mouth set in a frown.

“Yeah, kid. It’s not fun in there. But I was extra stupid. Got in fights.” She looks over at where Ava is sunbathing, her eyes closed. She’d changed out of her clothes and into some sort of coverup in seconds, and Sara’s glad. She doesn’t need to see Ava half naked. If she’d thought, she could’ve brought something like that, but she hadn’t. In a strange way, she’s glad. They were gonna see her scars eventually. Now, out in the sun, where they don’t look quite as bad, quite as scary, is as good a place as any. “Your mom told me I should tell you that getting into fights is bad. I figured you probably already knew, right?”

Charlotte nods, tilting her head to examine the scar tissue. She reaches out a hand, towards Sara’s stomach, then pauses. “Can I?” she asks, and Sara is reminded of that first evening, so many months ago. Sara nods. Charlotte stretches out her hand further. Her small fingers are, as always, slightly cold on Sara’s skin.

“Can you feel that?” Charlotte asks, screwing up her mouth. “I read that you can’t feel anything on scars.”

Sara shrugs. “A bit. I can feel a bit. It kinda tickles.”

“It tickles?” Charlotte asks.

“Yeah, you know, like this,” Sara says, reaching out a hand, pulling Charlotte’s foot towards her, scratching along the sole. Charlotte squeals, squirming away, laughing, loud enough for Ava to look over.

“Are you attacking my child, Sara?” she asks, drily, looking over her sunglasses.

Sara holds her hands up, an innocent look on her face. “Nothing of the sort.”

“She was _tickling_ me,” Charlotte says, her eyes wide, obviously hoping for sympathy. It doesn’t work. Ava just rolls off her chair, moving closer, capturing Charlotte in a hug that dissolves into more tickles. Charlotte eventually extricates herself, running off into the sea.

They watch her go, silent for a second. Then Ava turns to Sara, and she can see Ava’s eyes going to all the scars dotting her abdomen, her shoulders, her legs. She bites her lip. “Your job. It's not _that_ dangerous, right?”

Sara knows why she's asking. Losing Sara like that would be devastating for both of them. Sara can only shrug. “Depends on who I try to pick up.” That doesn't seem to satisfy Ava, though, her mouth still twisted. Sara sighs. “I haven't been taking such dangerous marks since she found me.” She'd been doing it subconsciously for a couple of months before she realised she was doing it. “Don't worry,” she continues. “I'm not going anywhere.”

That seems to be enough. Ava stands up, dropping the book on her lap back on her chair. “I should probably go in with her.” She looks reluctant.

Sara makes a snap decision, shakes her head. “No. I can. Don't worry. You stay back here.”

“Really?”

Sara nods.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Getting up, Sara follows Charlotte into the water.

Every time she looks back, Ava is watching them, not reading. When they're out of the water, wrapped in towels, Charlotte playing in the sand a little way away, Sara speaks. “You didn't trust I could keep her safe in there?”

Ava looks at her, confused. “Of course I did. Completely.”

“Why were you watching us, then?”

Ava is silent for a second, then just says, “I wasn't.”

It's a lie, and both of them know it, but Sara doesn't push it. She doesn't need to think about what that means.

 

At some point, she persuades Ava to get Charlotte a phone so that they have a direct line, and, after a little bit of cajoling, and Sara finding a kid-friendly one of the internet, Ava agrees.

When it comes, Ava eyes the box. “How exactly is it ‘kid-friendly’? It looks normal to me.”

Sara opens the packaging, reading the label. “You can control what she downloads, her time on it, set parental locks, get it to send you data…” she trails off as she reads more, feeling uneasy. In truth, she hadn’t really read more than child-friendly on the website. She looks at Ava, who has a similar look of unease on her face. “That’s creepy, right?”

Ava nods. “Yeah. That’s creepy.” She sits down at the kitchen counter, sighing. “I just want to protect her, you know, but not… not like that. She’s ten. She deserves… some sort of privacy, right?”

She’s looking at Sara as if Sara knows the answers. Or, maybe, she just needs affirmation, confirmation. Validation. Sara trusts Ava’s judgment implicitly, so it’s not hard to agree. “Yeah. She does.”

Sara examines the leaflet further. “You have to opt-in to all of those things. Otherwise it’s just a normal phone.” She reads on. “There’s a… ‘safe mode’. Locks down explicit content on the internet. Maybe just turn that on?”

Ava nods again. “Yeah. Yeah. Good idea. Can I see?” Sara hands over the box, watches Ava with careful eyes.

Her hands twist with every moment of silence. “And, I mean, if you’re not comfortable with this, you don’t have to—”

“No,” Ava says, firm. “I want her to have this access to you. I don’t want her to have to go through me every time. That’s not… that’s not conducive to a healthy relationship. For us _or_ for you two. She’s growing up. I just have to accept that.” She spins the phone between her fingers, contemplatively. “I held out this long. I think now’s the time for a change.”

She smiles at Sara, that same smile that makes Sara go a little weak every time she sees it, and all she can do is smile back.

 

After that moment, that moment with the phone, it feels a little like a watershed. Sara doesn’t think either of them noticed at the time, but, looking back on it, she realises it was the first time Ava asked Sara’s opinion when it came to something big for Charlotte.

Sure, she’d asked about small things. Food choices and days out and how to help with a particular piece of homework. But nothing quite as important as this. Over the next couple of weeks, Sara comes to the conclusion that Ava had noticed as well, because she keeps doing it. Keeps asking Sara what she thinks.

There’s always an undercurrent to the questions. A hint that Ava still has the deciding vote, and Sara would never question that, or push at it too hard. But she does voice opinions, and Ava listens to them, even if she doesn’t always agree.

It feels like something.

Like something big. Like a responsibility. Like trust.

It should weigh on Sara’s chest. Something in her tells her that this is the sort of thing she had run from for years—a connection, a real one, with mutual trust and appreciation. Something in her tells her she should hate it.

She doesn’t.

 

Over the summer, she looks into moving back to Star City. She doesn't tell Ava, not while things are up in the air, but she looks into it, because they’re actually getting somewhere. It had seemed impossible, once upon a time, but the three of them are getting somewhere.

And so, privately, is Sara. She’s going on dates. She’s trying to put Ava out of her mind. She sleeps with people, men and women a million times more appropriate for her than Ava. People less sensible, less stuck up, more fun.

People that don’t care or notice that Sara hasn’t done the dishes, or washed her hair for three days, or done laundry in two weeks.

The problem is, those are all things Ava notices when Sara’s staying with them, and she misses that. She used to hate being looked after by anyone, and the first couple of times Ava had—without even meaning to, it obviously just being in her nature to _care_ —Sara hadn’t liked it. And then, slowly, it had stopped bugging her, stopped making her feel trapped, like she was going to lose her edge, and she started relying on it, and, now, she almost _needs_ it. Needs Ava, looking out for her.

Every night of meaningless sex makes her want something that isn’t meaningless. Makes her want something with so much meaning it seems destined. So much meaning that it seems like the stars aligned to make it happen.

She wants Ava.

She doesn’t want John or Anna or Gwen or Alex. She wants Ava. Laurel sets her up with contact after contact in Coast City, endless supplies of lawyers and businessmen and women—because Sara had confessed that maybe she does want someone sensible and dependable—but none of them are Ava.

None of them are the woman that checks up on her if she hasn’t sent a text in a couple of days.

None of them are the woman who lights up when she sees Sara. (Sara tells herself that it’s just because she knows Charlotte will be happy to see her, but she likes to imagine that Ava likes seeing her, as well.)

None of them are the literal mother of her child, such a cruel twist of fate that makes them perfect and too dangerous to ever be together, a match and pile of kindling, waiting to catch on fire and burn into nothing.

None of them are who she wants, so she gives up. She needs to move on, but she can't, not yet. Every so often, she'll ask Ava if she's seeing anyone. She hopes it sounds casual, but really, it's desperate.

She needs Ava to start dating somebody so that there's something else between them. She needs Ava to be unavailable.

Ava never dates anybody.

She needs to stop dreaming about her. Needs to stop thinking about her constantly.

She doesn’t stop thinking about her.

 

And then, in mid September, when the trees are just beginning to turn orange, right after Ava's birthday—which Sara hadn’t visited for, but had compromised by sending a card— Ava goes silent for three days. For three days, she doesn't return any of Sara’s calls, or texts, or emails. Calling the mayor’s office gets her nowhere.

For a day, Sara thinks maybe Ava had decided she was better out of Charlotte’s life after all, but Sara doesn't understand why she'd decide that, now, after months of visits and painstaking progress. She hadn't even done anything. Their last message had ended with a smiley face from Ava. She’d sent a _card_. They were _okay_. She thought they were okay.

On the second day, she wonders if it's for the best. It feels like someone’s cut a hole out of her heart, but if Ava’s gone, if she doesn't want to see Sara anymore, then that makes things easier for Sara. She can't be in love with someone she doesn't talk to, at least not for long.

On the third day, it's just blind confusion. She doesn't understand what's happened. She doesn't understand why Ava isn't saying anything. Reliable, dependable Ava, who had always responded to texts within an hour, provided they came in when she was awake (and Sara never sent texts over night, because, somehow, she knew Ava’s sleep schedule), who always returned calls, who had never done anything close to this.

Sara doesn’t understand, and there's no way for her to understand, so she gets flat out drunk, the drunkest she's got since she met Ava. It doesn't make her feel better. It makes her feel worse. She knows she shouldn't be doing it, but Ava’s cut her out, just like that, and it _hurts._ The hole in her heart gets bigger. She's lost two people she— two people she loves, and she doesn't know why.

At one point, she leaves Ava a voicemail, a drunken, rambling mess of a voicemail. The last thing she manages to send Ava before she passes out, fully clothed, is a text.

_why_

 

She wakes up to her phone ringing. Ava's face flashes on the screen. It’s a photo Ava hadn’t even known Sara was taking. It’s beautiful, and it hurts, because it’s Ava.

She’s calling.

From the looks of the screen, she's called at least four times already. Ava is calling her. Her mind short circuits.

Sara doesn't want to pick it up, doesn't want to hear goodbye, but she does. “Yeah?” she says, not bothering with politeness, because it's over, obviously.

“Sara? Oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn’t— I haven't had my phone. I haven't been at home. No-one could find it. And I couldn't— fuck, I couldn't remember your number. That’s terrible, isn’t it? I should’ve remembered it. I should’ve memorised it. In case something like this happened. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I haven't been able to come home.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper. She sounds tired, defeated, filled with worry.

All of the anger drains from Sara’s body. Something is wrong. “Ava. Ava. What happened? Why haven't you been at home? Why do you sound like you haven't slept in three days?”

“Because I haven't,” Ava says, sounding slightly hysterical.

“Ava. Where have you been?”

“The hospital. Charlotte got sick. I meant to call you, but I couldn't go home to look for my phone. Gary couldn't find it. It had slipped down a side table, run its battery dry.” She's speaking so fast Sara can hardly hear her, but she's past caring about why Ava didn't get her messages, only focusing on the first part of her sentence.

“Ava. Please. Charlotte’s sick? How sick? Is she okay?” When Ava doesn't immediately respond, she tries again. “Ava! Snap out of it!” she says, her voice harsh, aggressive.

Ava gasps, a watery sound, and Sara’s stomach drops, fearing the worst. All she can hope is that it's just a reaction to the sudden change in tone. “The flu. It's... bad. But they think she's going to… get better. It's just— it’s just that it’s a nasty strain. Resistant. And she's— you're—”

Ava doesn't need to finish the sentence. As a kid, the flu had nearly killed Sara. Twice. Apparently, she has a genetic predisposition. That was part of the medical packet she handed over with Charlotte, when she’d just been a baby without a name.

Baby Lance. Female. Susceptible to flu.

Charlotte, tiny Charlotte, so much smaller than her mother. So much less resistant to anything and everything. In hospital.

“Are you still there?”

“No. G— Gary is. They sent me home to change. I found my phone. I'm going back in fifteen minutes, once I've showered.”

“Okay,” Sara says, “Okay. I'm coming down. I'll be there this afternoon.”

Ava tries to protest, but it's weak. “No— it's not time yet— there's still another… week. Your work—”

“Ava. I'm coming.” Screw her work.

She packs a bag in five minutes, is out of there in ten, after she's downed two coffees and some smoothie Laurel had brought her on one of her visits that was apparently guaranteed to cure a hangover.

The drive is faster than ever before. It's a Saturday morning, not Friday evening, like it usually is, so the roads are quiet. If she sped on the way back from Ava’s that first week, it's nothing compared to this. She does the journey in almost half the time. She knows it off by heart by now, knows every highway and landmark intimately, and she wills them to pass quicker than ever before.

When she gets to the house, it's empty. Obviously. But it's also a wreck, things everywhere. Charlotte must have been sick before she got taken into the hospital. The evidence is everywhere. In the mess, in the way it's obvious Ava hadn't had time to clear up. But, even so, Ava must've still been assuming it was something minor, must've just been being cautious, or Sara knows she would've called.

Sara wants to go straight to the hospital, but, instead, she spends half an hour cleaning things up. Then she makes up some food, puts some coffee from the fancy coffee machine she's long since learnt how to use into a thermos, and puts the hospital into Google.

It's not in Starling. It's in Star City, the children’s hospital. It's another twenty minutes drive, and her heart is pounding the whole way. Ava had said she was getting better. But she hadn't contacted Sara since then. There's always a chance—

She doesn't think it.

She gets to the hospital, parks, calls Ava. She picks up immediately. “I'm here,” Sara says. “Outside. Do you need to come get me, to let me up?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I'll come down.”

Inside, it's clinical. They've tried to cheer things up, tried to paint things colourful shades of paint, but the need to be clean above all shines through, in the smell, in the gloves and masks and sinks. After a minute in the reception, Ava shows up, and the nurse on the desk ushers Sara’s though, towards Sara.

And Ava hugs her.

Sara doesn't know what to do. They haven't done this before, but Ava is holding her tight. Sara’s hands hang limp, until she finally decides to hug back. “Thank you for coming,” Ava says. “I know it was a long journey, and you hadn't planned it—”

“Ava.” Sara pulls back. “I would've come no matter how far away I was. Please. You have to know that.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I do. I guess... my head’s— I can't think, right now.”

Sara's hand finds Ava’s arm. “It's okay. Let's just go up to her, yeah?”

Ava leads the way, through a maze of wards, to Charlotte’s. She's asleep. She looks peaceful. Her chest rises and falls minutely.

“Is she ever awake?” Sara asks.

“Yeah.” Ava sighs. “But she’s always tired. And when she’s awake, she’s coughing and sneezing and is either super hot or super cold and it’s… horrible. It’s horrible.”

Ava collapses in the chair next to the bed. Sara finds another one outside the room, pulls it in. Ava looks so defeated that Sara can’t help but sit closer than she usually would. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. Are they still saying she’s getting better?”

Ava nods, teary. “It’s just— It’s _my_ fault. Did I tell you that? I didn’t get the shot. I _always_ get the shot for her, and somehow it just— it just slipped my mind, and flu season was over _months_ ago, and I thought I was okay, and I— I obviously wasn’t.” She looks up at Sara, her eyes watering. “You should be mad at me. I almost killed your daughter.”

“You didn’t—” Sara stops, registering what Ava just said. “Was she ever that bad?” Sara asks.

Ava nods again. “For about an hour, she got really bad. And then it passed, and when she woke up, she asked for _you_ , and I couldn’t get you, and I felt like— the worst mother ever.”

“Hey. No. Ava. Hey. Look at me.” Ava does. Tears spill out over her cheeks, rolling ungracefully down her face. Sara wants to touch her, to wipe away the tears, to kiss them away, but she doesn’t. Ava has enough on her mind. “I'm not mad. I could never be mad at you, not for this. You’re not the worst mother ever. You’re not anywhere close. You’re amazing. She loves you.”

“She wanted _you_.” Ava spits it out.

Sara blinks, takes a breath, her mind reeling, then speaks, trying to figure out the right thing to say. “How many times?”

“What?”

“How many times did she ask for me?”

“I—” Ava stops. “I mean. Once. Maybe twice. She’s been kinda out of it, most of the time.”

“How many times has she asked for you?” Sara asks.

Ava looks confused. “None. She hasn’t— I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Exactly,” Sara says, and realisation dawns on Ava’s face, obviously having needed someone to spell it out for her, pierce through the illogical thinking that had been driving her crazy with guilt. “She hasn't needed to ask for you because you've been _here_. She would've been asking for you every minute if you'd hadn't, but you _have._ You’ve been killing yourself staying here. Nobody could say you’re not doing everything for her.”

“I’m not _healing_ her,” Ava says, desperation in her voice. “I’m not making her better.”

“No,” Sara says, and then breaks an unwritten rule of hers, finding Ava’s hand. She hears an intake of breath from Ava, but Ava doesn't pull her hand away. Still, Sara almost wants to. Every piece of skin that is touching Ava's fingers burns. She ignores that, keeps speaking. “That’s the doctor’s job. Yours— _ours_ is to stay here until she’s better, okay?”

 

So that's what they do. Ava finally gets some sleep, with the reassurance that Sara will come get her if anything changes. At one point, Charlotte wakes up, sees Sara there, and smiles. “You came,” she mumbles. “Mom said she’d try to get you.”

“Yeah, kid. Mom got me. She did that. She called me. She got me for you.”

“I knew she would,” Charlotte says, and then she drifts off again.

When Sara recounts that to Ava, a small smile appears on her face for the first time. “You’re her hero, Ava. She loves you. She wouldn’t want you beating yourself up.”

“I can't help it,” Ava says, sadness on her face, and Sara knows that, knows her well enough now to know that she will blame herself until Charlotte is better.

“I know, Ava. But it's gonna be okay.”

 

At some point, they're both awake, sitting in the Charlotte’s room, watching her sleep. Ava is curled up in her chair, her hair in a messy braid, her grey jumper dwarfing her body. She's watching Charlotte intently. Too intently. She's hardly blinking. It's like a trance, so Sara stands up, the sound loud in the room. Ava looks up, startled. “You going somewhere?”

“No,” Sara says, dragging her chair closer. “You just— you're zoning out. You wanna talk?”

“I can't— I can’t think about anything but her,” Ava says, her voice small, looking down, fiddling with her sleeves.

“Okay,” Sara says. “Okay. I'll talk then. I'll talk. You need to think about something else. Something that isn't about her being ill.”

Ava looks up. “What—” she cuts off, sniffing. “What are you gonna talk about?”

Sara looks around, shrugging. “I've never really told you about any of my time pregnant with her, have I?”

Ava's eyes widen. “No. I mean, I didn't think you'd— I didn't think you'd want to.”

“Yeah, no you're right. I didn't used to want to think about it. I _didn't_ think about it for years. But now…” she glances over at Charlotte, where she's sleeping. “I don't know. It doesn't hurt so much. So if you want to hear it… I'm happy to talk about it.”

Ava just nods, clutching her knees closer. Sara takes a deep breath—and then tells everything, for only the second time in ten years.

How she'd run away with her sister’s boyfriend because she was seventeen and it seemed fun. How, when they got caught, he'd put all the blame on her, how a plea deal had been the best bet, how she'd been shipped off to juvie mere weeks after the crime, not nearly long enough to realise she was pregnant. How, eventually, some time before her eighteenth, she'd realised. At that, Ava gasps, softly, as if registering for the first time how young Sara had been.

“And you never told your parents?”

Sara shrugs. “I was almost eighteen. There was no legal requirement. I didn't want them to think even worse of me.”

“But you kept her? Why?” There's pain in Ava's voice, but a sort of horrible, morbid curiosity to it.

Sara shrugs again. “She was my kid. I loved her. It was us against the world. I guess she was almost… a last fuck you, you know, to everything everyone wanted me to be.” Sara looks at Charlotte, still asleep. “I never could've imagined she'd turn out this well. My little teenage rebellion baby.”

Ava smiles, weakly, then motions for Sara to carry on, and she does.

“Being pregnant was kinda terrifying. Before I knew, I'd been— I'd been getting in fights. Not the ones that gave me these scars. Those were after I had her. But in the first couple of months, I got into smaller ones. They stopped once I knew. Everyone stopped bothering me. But I was always terrified I'd already hurt her, or that I'd hurt her some other way. She was kinda a… reality check, though. I'd been stupid, when I ran away with him. I hadn't cared about anyone but myself. I had to grow up, you know, to deal with this. She made me grow up.”

Ava laughs, softly. “She made me grow up, as well.”

Sara raises an eyebrow. “You're telling me that you were immature when you got her? I don't believe you were even immature at _ten.”_

Ava shakes her head. “Not… immature. Maybe too career-focused. I couldn't see anything but that. She made me realise there were other things.” She pauses, smiling, then motions again for Sara to carry on.

“Every scan I had, I was terrified that there'd be something wrong. But there wasn't. There never was. Somehow, she was resilient. And then, all of a sudden, it had been nine months. Everything happened super fast. I knew I was giving her up. That had never been a question. I couldn’t keep her. I couldn’t give her to anyone. I wasn't even that big. I knew she was going to be tiny. I kinda hoped that would mean it would hurt less. Spoiler alert—it didn't."

She looks down at her fingers, at where they twist in her lap. “Honestly, I don't remember much of the birth. Probably because I'd never been in that much pain. I think I've blocked it out. All I remember is holding her, after. She was… she _was_ tiny and she was screaming and kinda purple and I only held her for a minute, because I didn't want to get attached, but… I don't know. I felt kinda at peace? I mean, sure, it was still bittersweet. I was still kinda in the worst pain I'd ever been in, you know, even though it was over, because I knew I was letting her go, but then…”

She looks up, and there are tears welling in Ava's eyes.

“But then they told me— they told me they had an adoptive mother all set up. Nearby. Good job. Nice house. Settled. Comfortable. And I just— I just knew that I was making the right decision, you know? I just knew she was going to be okay with her. With you,” she says, looking up again. Tears are now streaming down Ava's face. “I knew she'd be alright with you. I just felt it. And I was right. I _did_ make the right decision. You're the best thing that could've happened to her, Ava.”

“I—”

“You are. You're the best thing I could've ever hoped for for her.”

“Sara, I—”

“I've never thanked you, have I?” Sara says. “Thank you. For doing what I couldn't.”

Ava doesn't have anything to say to that. That's okay. The silence says it all.

 

Charlotte keeps getting better. A day after Sara gets there, she wakes up, and she's much more alert than she had been at any time before. She doesn't fall immediately back asleep, instead, manages almost an entire day awake.

The day after that, the flu is almost gone. The doctor’s run test after test, and Ava watches, in silent agony, her fingers digging into Sara’s arm. Sara wants to take that hand, hold it, but she doesn't. Not again.

There are a few awkward moments where someone asks who Sara is. In Starling, everyone knows, by now. But here? It's an awkward question to answer, but Sara always takes the burden of answering, because, even after a couple of hours stolen on sleep, Ava is still exhausted. Sara doesn't lie—she's tired as well, and she doesn't have the energy to think up a convincing one—just gives them the whole story in as fewer words as possible.

_She's my kid. Ava adopted her. I'm back in her life now._

Nobody usually asks more than that.

 

And then, three days after Sara had arrived, Charlotte is discharged. Ava fusses over getting her to the car. Sara just watches from the sidelines, only helping when Ava asks, because it's obvious it's something she has to do herself. Sara's car is still there, so she follows Ava’s back to the house, fingers drumming on the wheel. Ava drives slowly, slower than usual, but Sara can't begrudge her that. She's paranoid, being extra careful. It won't last forever, but there's no point trying to snap her out of it early.

Back at the house, Sara leaves to go shopping, buying things from a list of foods that the doctors said would be okay for Charlotte to eat. She cooks while Ava settles Charlotte back in to her room, brings it up when she's done.

Ava turns when Sara knocks on the door, two plates in hand.

“I figured you'd want to eat up here with her.”

“Yeah.” Then she frowns. “Only two plates? What about you?”

Sara starts. “I didn't— I didn't want to intrude. If you just wanted it to be you two.”

Ava looks at Charlotte. “You want Sara up here, baby?”

Charlotte nods, sleepily. Sara’s heart swells, and she hands over the plates, before going back downstairs, getting one for herself. They eat in companionable silence, Ava and Sara cross-legged on the floor.

When they're done, Charlotte tries to talk, but she's obviously tired, and she falls asleep with the plate still in her hand. Ava carefully extricates it, ushers Sara out of the room, silently. Once they're in the hallway, the door quietly closed, Ava looks at her, her expression intense. “Thank you.”

“Oh, yeah. The food was no problem.”

“Not just the food. For everything.”

Sara doesn't know what to say, and is thankful that Ava doesn't seem to expect an answer, because she's turning away, going back downstairs. “I'll do the dishes. You find some alcohol. I need a drink,” she says.

When they're downstairs, Sara goes into the office. “You want to drink in here?” Sara calls out, mostly a courtesy. They always drink in there.

“No,” comes Ava’s faint reply. “Living room. It's too stuffy in there. I can’t be in there. Not today.”

Sara’s slightly taken aback, that Ava is going against their routine, but obeys, takes the whiskey and a bottle of wine she finds through into the living room, not sure what Ava wants. She settles on the couch. When Ava appears from the kitchen, she's pulled her hair down. There are dark circles under her eyes. Her nose is red, and so are her eyes. She looks beautiful. She always looks beautiful.

But she's obviously been crying again. Pain strikes through Sara at the thought of Ava crying alone.

Ava makes her way across the room—and then sits on the couch, right next to Sara. So close they're touching. Sara suddenly can't breathe, doesn't dare breathe.

“Pour me something,” Ava says, and she's not looking at Sara. She's staring ahead, blindly. It doesn’t sound like Ava’s going to clarify any further what she wants, so Sara decides to go for whiskey. Ava downs it in one, then sets the glass down by her feet. “I nearly lost her. _We_ nearly lost her. And you almost didn't even know. How could I let that happen, Sara?” She turns to Sara, and she's almost crying again, tears welling up, and Sara has to _stop_ that. She can’t watch Ava cry, not again. She can’t do it.

“Hey. Ava. Please. Listen to me. It's not your fault. It really isn't. The shot isn't even perfect. She still could've got it.”

Ava looks small, smaller than she's ever looked, and Sara says fuck it, and puts her arm around her, pulling her close. Ava sniffs, but doesn't resist, doesn't pull away. Instead, she does the opposite, settling her head on Sara’s shoulder. Her hair is soft, and smells vaguely floral.

Sara's eyes close. “The point is,” she says, rubbing slow circles on Ava’s arm, “she's better, now. Everything’s okay. Everything worked out okay.”

“I— yeah. It did.” Ava pauses. “But, fuck. When you weren't there, Sara, I— I needed you there. I couldn't do it without you. Every second I couldn't remember your fucking number— it killed me. I needed you there.”

 _Need_.

Such a strong word. A word that makes something in Sara’s chest tighten.

And then she feels Ava shift against her, moving her head, twisting her body. Sara finally opens her eyes, and Ava is staring right at her. Her eyes are so blue. Icey cold against the red skin around them. And close.

So close.

And then she's closer, and Sara doesn't know who moved, if it was her or Ava or if it was even on purpose, or if it was some sort of unconscious movement. She doesn't know who closes the gap, only that, one second there is two inches between their mouths, and the next second, there isn't. And she's kissing Ava. Or Ava is kissing her, or they're both kissing each other.

They fit together perfectly. It's like relaxing into something familiar. Ava is pressed up against her, not a single breath of air between their bodies. She was already close, closer than they'd ever been before, but _now_ —

Now they're so close it feels like they're one person. Sara can feel Ava’s heart beat. She can feel Ava's eyelashes on her skin.

She can taste salt on Ava’s lips.

They're slightly dry, cracked a bit from days of not caring about herself, but it doesn't matter. They don't need to be soft to feel exactly as good as Sara always imagined they would, or somehow maybe even better. Sara isn't sure what's happening, doesn't know anything, not how or why, doesn't know anything, except that Ava’s lips are still moving on hers, slow and sad but still somehow sweet. Sara’s not breathing, but she doesn't need to breathe. She just needs this, forever. Her hand moves up to tangle in Ava’s hair, to feel the hair she's wanted to touch for months.

Sara's lips fall open—

And then Ava abruptly pulls back, her face—her face _pained_.

That's the only word for it. Like she's in pain. It twists, her eyebrows going up, her mouth falling open, and it looks like she's been hurt.

“Sara…” she says, and Sara can't read it. But it's not _good._ Ava's not _happy_. That's all Sara can tell, and it's all she needs to kickstart the instinct inside of her that tells her to run. She scrambles up, pushing Ava off her, moving away from her as quickly as possible. Her heart speeds up. Her chest tightens until it's painful.

She'd done it. She'd done what she'd always said she wouldn't do. She'd fucked it up. It had to have been her that initiated it, without even really knowing she was doing it, her body just working on automatic, because it can't have been Ava, Ava who almost looks _horrified_ , her expression nearing on aghast. Ava opens her mouth, and words don't come out. She tries again, a word on the tip of her tongue, and Sara interrupts her.

“I'm sorry,” Sara says, ignoring whatever Ava is trying to say. She doesn't want to hear it. _Can't_ hear it. “I'm sorry. I can't— I'm sorry. I'll— I'll go. I have to go.”

“No, Sara—”

“I'll go,” Sara says, more aggressive. “Don't talk to me. It'll make it worse.”

Ava shuts up, abruptly, her mouth slamming closed, into a hard line. Sara stalks upstairs, finds her bag, packs it in seconds, throwing everything in, haphazard. When she's back downstairs, she looks at Ava, who's standing, frozen in the hallway. “Tell Charlotte I'm sorry. Tell her I said goodbye.”

“You can't _leave_ , Sara, not _now_ , please, I'm sorry—”

Ava's words hurt. Her apologising makes Sara feel worse. How can she even— Ava apologising for not feeling the same makes Sara ache, and her heart is broken, thoroughly, in two. There's nothing that can fix it.

Sara walks out to her car. Ava follows her. She's pulled on some sort of robe over her pyjamas. It's light grey and oversized. It makes her look small She wraps it around herself, her arms crossed like she's holding more than just the front together. Her lips are still slightly swollen, smudged from the kiss. It's like a taunt.

“Sara, it's late, you can't—”

“I don't care.”

“Don't go. We can work something out.” They can't work anything out. Not while Ava doesn't feel the same. While Ava doesn't feel the same, Sara's a liability. Not good for Ava, and certainly not good for Charlotte. Not good for her to see her birth mother pining for her real one. It's only going to put thoughts in her head. Mess with her. No. She has to go. It's the best option. For everyone.

“I have to go,” Sara says, bitter. “I'm sorry it had to end like this.”

“End?” Ava's voice breaks, like she's only just realising that Sara's leaving for good, like that wasn't where this was going from the second she pulled away with that look on her face. Like this ending isn't the only option. “No. Sara. Don't do this. Don't run away from this. We can—”

“What, Ava? We can what?”

“I don't know,” Ava admits.

“She's finally run out of answers,” Sara mutters, and then she's turning the keys in the engine, starting the car, speeding down the road, away from Ava.

In the rear view mirror, Sara sees Ava watch her go.

When she's out of Starling, she finally lets herself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the time jump wasn't too jarring. I worked on it A LOT, expanding until it was like.... six times longer than it was originally. I just needed to move the story on, and like... the fic was already at 50k at that point I couldn't make it THAT much longer.
> 
> Also, i do not claim to be accurate on the medical things, the adoption things, the prison things. i try to make things believable, but i don't have time for in depth research. pls just roll with it xoxo
> 
> See you next week!
> 
> oh, and.... sorry!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you SO MUCH for the great reaction to last week's chapter. seriously, i love people yelling at me, so it was exactly what i wanted.
> 
> this one is also pretty long. honestly, they're all long until the epilogue so like, save time for them accordingly
> 
> and, um... prepare yourself

As much as she wants to defy Ava and drive home, she's right. It's too late to go all the way, so she doesn't. She drives to Star City instead, to Laurel’s apartment, and knocks on the door, hoping with everything she has that Laurel is home, and alone.

Someone up there has her back, because, when Laurel opens the door, there's no-one else in sight. Sara feels a small bit of tension leave her body, slumping in the door frame, so relieved that Laurel is on her own.

“Sara?” Her voice is filled with alarm. Sara knows she looks a mess, knows her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are shiny and her nose is probably running. “Sara. What happened?”

She stumbles into Laurel’s arms, and the feeling of being held brings her to tears again, staining Laurel’s shirt immediately with salt water. Laurel carefully manoeuvres them inside, shutting the door behind them.

“Sara. Shh,” Laurel pulls back, her hands on Sara’s cheeks, her thumbs wiping at her tears. “What happened? Tell me what happened, babe.”

Sara rewinds through the events in her head. Everything is a blur. She can’t think properly, can’t process it properly. All she can say is, “I fucked it up.”

“What, Sara?”

Sara can’t say anything. She’s stuck. Laurel guides them to the living room, sits Sara down on the couch.

“What did you fuck up, babe?” Laurel asks again.

Taking a deep breath, Sara forces the words out. “Everything.” She spits it, hating herself. “All of it. I've lost— both of them. I thought I lost them and then I hadn't, and then I almost lost Charlotte, and then everything was _fine_ and I fucked it up and now I've lost both of them for good.”

“Something happened with Ava?” Laurel guesses, and Sara knows it's written on her face.

How heartsick she is. How much she gambled, and how much she lost in an instant.

“I—” Sara can't say it, cutting herself off with a gasp. She tries again. “I kissed her. I don't even know how it happened. It just… did. I kissed her, and then she pulled away, and she was looking at me like I'd just _killed_ someone, and I had to get out of there.”

“You didn't talk about it?” Laurel asks, calmly.

“God, no. I didn't need to hear her talk about how she doesn't feel the same way, or how I ruined everything by breaking the one rule we set. I already know everything she could have to say. I didn't need to hear any more.”

“She might have had _something_ to say—”

Sara shakes her head, cutting Laurel off, drawing her knees up to her chest, as if she can keep herself together that way, keep her heart from pouring out of her chest. “She doesn't have anything to say. She hates me. And even if there's a tiny chance she didn't after the kiss, she does _now_. I've done what I always said I would. I've run away. At the _worst_ possible time. Right when she’s most vulnerable. I've ditched Charlotte. I’ve ditched both of them.

“And she's not going to understand that I _had_ to. That I had to for _them_. To keep _them_ safe, from me, coming in and ruining everything by giving Charlotte false hope about what we could be. Now that Ava— now that Ava knows how I feel, I can't be around them. It's too dangerous. They're too— they're too carefully balanced, and I knew me coming in would ruin everything, and it _has.”_

It's at that moment that Sara’s phone rings. Ava's face flashes up. It feels like she's been shot. White hot pain rushes through her, and she knows it's in her head, but it doesn't feel like that. It feels like there’s a bullet tearing through her heart, through her lungs, ripping her apart.

She shoves it towards Laurel. “Get rid of the phone,” she says, hardly able to breathe.

“Sara, this is your _kid_. I know you don't want to talk to Ava, but can you really cut Charlotte—” Laurel’s face is sympathetic, and her words make sense. What she’s saying makes sense, but Sara can’t process anything right now, can't listen to reason. She just needs the phone to stop ringing.

“Get rid of the phone,” Sara repeats, gritting her teeth. “Get rid of it. I can't— I can't breathe. If I think about her, I can't breathe. I can't have that phone anymore. I can't have that number anymore."

“Okay, Sara, okay,” Laurel says, picking it up. Her voice is calm, soothing. She presses a button on the side. The SIM card pops out. The phone finally stops ringing. “Compromise. I'll keep it here, with me. If you want it back, it's here. I'm not gonna let you just trash it.”

“Whatever,” Sara says. All that she cares is that it's not ringing anymore. She feels numb.

She tells herself that it was the right decision. The selfless one. That staying would over complicated things, made things difficult. But really, it's not selfless. It's entirely selfish. She's heartbroken, and she couldn’t deal with the pain of staying while knowing Ava didn't feel the same.

That's why she left.

That's why she's staying away.

That's why her daughter isn't going to see her again.

That's why Sara's breaking the best connections she's ever made.

Because she's selfish.

Laurel tries to talk to her, but she can't hear it. Eventually, Laurel stops trying. Eventually, Sara must close her eyes, because, at some point, she's dreaming.

 

Ava is kissing her, properly kissing her, leaning in, her hands on Sara’s face, but, this time, when Sara’s lips fall open, instead of pulling away, Ava presses in deeper, one hand going to Sara’s neck, one hand pressing down between their bodies, a question without words.

Sara nods against Ava’s mouth. “Yes. Please,” she says, and it's desperate.

It's _then_ that Ava pulls away, her expression even worse than before. “You care more about a hookup than your own daughter? Than how she'd feel if she knew you were just happy to use me as a fling?”

Sara’s heart stops beating. “It's not— it wouldn't be— you'd never be a fling. Ava. Please.”

Ava just shakes her head, and she looks disappointed more than anything. “I said we couldn't risk it, and you still tried, because you just had to get your fix, didn't you? Didn't matter who it was. You didn't care about who you might hurt. You're even worse than I ever imagined you could be,” she spits, her face twisting.

 

Sara wakes up with a gasp, tears streaming down her cheek.

She's still in Laurel’s living room. The room is pitch black. Sara fumbles for her phone for some light, and then remembers, fresh tears welling up from her eyes. She scrubs at her face, trying to slow her breathing.

She can just about see Laurel’s clock on the oven. Three in the morning. She has to go back to sleep, but the thought of going back to that nightmare is too much. She doesn't have anything to distract her from her thoughts, though, no phone, no nothing, and so they swirl in her head.

That she should go back and beg Ava to forgive her, promise that she can change, that she'll try to fall out of love.

That she can't ever go back.

That Ava's not going to be able to explain this to Charlotte without breaking her heart.

That Sara staying and Charlotte finding out how close to having her dream she was—her and Ava together—would break her heart even worse.

That there's nothing she can do to make this better.

Eventually, for lack of a distraction, she falls back asleep. This time it's mercifully dreamless, and she doesn't wake up crying, at least—just wakes up feeling empty. When she’d thought she'd lost them the first time, she was angry—she didn't know what she'd done. This time, she knows exactly what it is, and so all she can feel is numbness.

 

Laurel babies her, and she should hate it. She's nearing on thirty. She shouldn't let herself be pulled up from the couch and dressed and fed but it's like her brain has given up. She's got no desire to do anything except sleep.

It's a breakup without ever having been together. Somehow it's worse.

It's worse than leaving Nyssa, because at least they had _time_. It's a million times worse than Oliver, because she'd never loved him, because his last actions towards her had made her hate him. She should hate Ava. Everything would've been easier if she hated her, if she'd hated Ava from the start, if she hadn't learnt to love the way Ava gets under her skin.

But she had, and she doesn't hate Ava.

She's never going to hate Ava.

Laurel’s talking again, and Sara can't hear her. She blinks. “What?” she asks, her voice tiny.

“I was just saying, I'm not letting you go home until you snap out of this, Sara. I don't trust you to look after yourself.” She's probably right not to. _Sara_ doesn't trust herself. “You can stay here as long as you want.”

That day, when Laurel goes to work, Sara gets in her car and drives back to Starling, back to Ava’s street. Just far enough along that she can see the house, just far enough away that Ava wouldn't spot her if she wasn't looking for her.

She sees Ava walk Charlotte out of the house, to school.

Her face is lined with sadness. Sara wants to get out of the car, to make all the pain go away, but she can't.

She doesn't.

She waits until they have disappeared out of sight, and then drives back to Laurel’s and wastes away the rest of the day.

 

Sara manages three more days, and then she's itching to return home. Or, at least, that's what she tells herself. Really, she is just desperate to be away from Star City, from Starling, from being so close to Ava. If she stays here, the temptation to go back is going to be unbearable.

When she voices this wish, Laurel looks at her, worry in her eyes. “It's too soon, Sara.”

“I have to go. You don't understand— being this _close_. It's killing me. I need to go home. I need to get away from here.”

“Okay. Then I'm coming with you,” Laurel says, like the decision is nothing at all. “And I'm staying with you until I trust you're not going to do something drastic.”

It’s probably a good idea. Sara’s already getting thoughts, thoughts of throwing herself into work, of being more reckless than even she used to be, because it doesn’t even _matter_ anymore.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of calls. Laurel getting the time off, calling their parents, warning her neighbours that they're going, packing her car with enough stuff to last her for at least two weeks off. All of it makes Sara want to cry, having someone who cares about her like this again.

And then it just reminds her of the other person who had cared about her like this. Who would've still cared about her like this if Sara hadn't tried to push their relationship somewhere where it should never have gone.

 

The next day, they set off early, Laurel having packed the car the night before.

A week after she had driven to Starling in a panic, she lets Laurel drive her away. Laurel chooses the route that doesn't go past the town. Sara is grateful for that. She sleeps for the first hour, waking when they're back on the highway.

It's clear, an easy drive. Laurel doesn't have to concentrate too hard. Sara can feel her eyes on her, and ignores it until Laurel speaks.

“Sara?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think it's over forever?”

Sara nods.

Laurel sighs. “Look. You know I don’t think that this is the right decision. I don’t think you can just back out of this.” Sara opens her mouth to protest, but Laurel keeps going. “I don’t think you should just run away from your kid. I’m sorry, but I don’t. But,” she says, shaking her head, “you’re a grown woman. I can’t force you to do anything. If you want to do this, if you want to just… leave and never go back to them, then I can’t stop you. But you're going to need closure.”

“I can't see her—” Sara starts, panicked.

“No,” Laurel says, sighing again, her hand finding Sara’s, gripping down tight, anchoring her. “Not that. Just… tell me about her. Let it all out.”

“I—”

“You were in love with her?” Laurel asks.

Were. Are. Will be.

“Yeah. I love her. I'm in love with her.” It's the first time she's admitted that out loud, and it's _something,_ at least.

“Then you need to talk about it. If you don't, those feelings are going to eat you up from the inside, Sara.”

The thought of talking about her makes Sara ache.

“I can't.”

Laurel’s voice, when she speaks again, is understanding, but firm, unflinching. “You have to.”

“I _can't_ ,” Sara repeats, her voice hard.

“Yes,” Laurel says. “You can. I'm humouring you, Sara. I'm letting you run away from this, because I can see how much you're hurting. But I'm gonna make you do this, because you need to. You can talk about her. I know you can.”

And the thing is, Sara knows she can, as well. She knows it's going to hurt, but she also knows she can. The words bubble up in her throat, trying to escape her mouth. There's so much to say about Ava, so much that if feels like it’s too big for her chest now that it's collapsed in on her, so much that she needs to let out.

“Come on, babe. Tell me about her. Let it all out. Tell me everything. I promise, you're going to feel better.”

So, Sara takes a deep breath, and starts. “I think she's the most beautiful person I've ever met. She always looks more angry than she is, and she's always more anxious than she looks. She loves Charlotte more than I could ever love anything.”

That's almost not true, anymore. She loves both of them more than she ever thought she could, when Charlotte first turned up at her door. They had buried themselves deep inside her heart, inextricable.

“She eats breakfast but not lunch. She never really drinks except when I'm there.” The whiskey in the bottle never got lower in level between Sara’s visits. “She's the mayor, and she doesn't let anyone see how vulnerable she actually is.”

Laurel laughs, softly. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Yeah…” Sara trails off. She'd always thought they were too different to ever fit together. Maybe they were too similar. “She always sleeps at the same time. She can actually cook, like, real food. She doesn't date. Hardly anyone in town even knows she's gay.”

Another hurdle to them. It doesn't matter, now, but it's another reason that Sara's act had been selfish. Ava has enough to deal with without coming out to an entire town.

“She didn't have to like me. She only had to tolerate me, for Charlotte. I was horrible to her, at first. She had no reason to keep trying, but she did. She kept trying, and then we were friends. And she needed me, and I ruined that.”

Sara sees Laurel frown, slightly at that. “She needed you?”

“After we brought Charlotte home, before the— before the kiss, she told me that she'd needed me, when Charlotte was sick. She'd needed me, and now I'm gone, and she's alone again.”

“Friends?”

Sara shakes her head. “She keeps to herself. I think I was her closest friend, and I— I fucking threw that all away.” Tears are suddenly falling, thick and fast, suffocating her, at the thought of Ava alone again. “I can't— I can't say anymore.”

“Yes, you can. This is good. Let it all out.”

And so, even though every word feels like a new knife in her chest, she does. She tells Laurel everything, everything about Ava, everything about Charlotte.

Every thing about Ava that made her love her, every quirk and every habit that annoyed Sara at first, but that endeared her over time. Every facet of her personality, from her ever present worry to her pride to the way she cared, so, so deeply, about the people important to her. About Charlotte, and then, as time went on, about Sara.

It all pours out, and when Sara is done, it feels like she's confessed, like she's been wiped clean. The love she feels hasn't lessened, but it has stopped hurting quite as much. Maybe she's just growing used to the pain, becoming accustomed.

When she looks up, she realises they're almost back home. She'd talked for hours. The worst thing is that she knows that, if she'd had the energy, there is hours more worth of things she could say about Ava. She could talk about her for days, until she ran out of breath.

She _would_ talk about her for days, just so she doesn't forget the memories she has, the only memories she's going to have. Recite them over and over until they're etched in permanent marker on her mind, burned on forever.

Laurel had been silent most of the time, only talking to prompt Sara, to keep her going. She has a strange look on her face as Sara finishes, but Sara’s too exhausted to try to figure out why.

They get to Sara’s apartment. She'd left in a rush, and it shows.

Worry still hangs in the air, taking Sara back to the mindset she'd been in when she left, when she hadn't been sure if Charlotte was going to be okay. She closes her eyes, taking a breath. She can't think about Charlotte anymore. Can't think about how she'd slept on that couch or how she'd eaten at that table.

She has to move on, away from this, like she'd always wanted to be able to.

It's a wish being fulfilled, months too late, when she doesn't want that anymore, doesn't want anything _close_ to that. She already misses them, misses them so much that it hurts.

Charlotte, especially. Charlotte who hadn’t done anything wrong, who hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Her kid. Sara thinks of her, and is overwhelmed with so much sadness, so much guilt, that she has to sit down, her head in her hands.

She wishes there was any way she could go back without things going terribly, but there isn’t. Not now. Maybe in a year. Two years.

But not now.

Laurel cooks, makes Sara eat.

“Look, Sara. I'm here as long as you need me.”

But she has work. She can't stay here forever, which seems to be as long as Sara’s going to be devastated, so she convinces herself that she's going to put on a show for Laurel, give herself a week, maximum, and then try to present herself as okay enough for Laurel to go.

She's not ruining another life.

Not after she's already ruined three. Her own. And Ava and Charlotte’s.

Laurel isn't getting caught in the crossfire of this, not after she let Sara back in, forgave her like it was nothing.

 

Days pass. Time moves on. Sara feels stuck in the past. She goes for runs, and hates it. She tries working out, and hates it even more. She eats crap, and hates herself, most of all. She's a mess. And then, one morning, Laurel gets up and makes her shower. Makes her clean the apartment. Makes her put on real clothes that aren’t pyjamas.

“Why?” she asks, and Laurel just shakes her head.

“Trust me.”

“I do, but why? What's happening?” She pauses, trying to think what could be going on. “Fuck. Is my landlord coming? Did I forget?”

“No, babe,” Laurel says, her fingers going to Sara’s hair. “No landlord. Just trust me. It's okay. It's all going to be okay.”

Nothing is ever going to be okay anymore, not as long as Sara feels as empty as she does, but the words placate her slightly. She opens her laptop, and half works for the rest of the day, feeling Laurel’s eyes on her all the while.

And then, in the early evening, the doorbell rings. Laurel nods at her to get it.

It should've been obvious to Sara who it was, but it isn't.

Until she looks through the peephole, she doesn't have any clue who it is, and the second she looks through, it feels like she's been stabbed (and she knows what that feels like), like someone has poured cold water over her whole body.

“No,” she says, stumbling backwards. “No.” She looks at Laurel, and there's a gentle smile on her face, because obviously _she_ knows who it is. She had to have set this all up. “No, Laurel, how could you—”

“Open the door, Sara. Just open it. It's okay.”

Sara moves closer again, and then she hears _her_ voice, and nearly breaks down. “Sara. I know you're in there. Laurel said you were. I know this is the right place. Charlotte recognises it.”

She's brought Charlotte with her. Here.

It's impossible to breathe.

“Sara. Please. Just open the door. We came all this way. I just need to talk to you.”

It doesn't sound like she's mad. But she’s had a week to stew, and Sara had seen all of Ava’s types of anger in the time they’d known each other. Loud and angry, sure, but sometimes, sometimes quiet and devastating. Maybe this is that.

Sara leans her forehead against the door, breathing slowly, trying to force oxygen to her brain.

On the other side of the door, she hears Ava settle, and then her voice is closer than before, and maybe they're mirroring each other. Maybe she’s pressed up against it, too. Maybe all that’s separating them is two inches of wood. “Please, Sara. Open the door.”

It's Charlotte's voice that finally breaks her. “Can we come in?” It's so high and innocent and devoid of pretence. She just wants to come in, wants to see Sara.

Sara sighs. Looks back at Laurel. Laurel nods, encouragingly. Sara opens the door. Ava, who obviously _had_ been leaning up against it, stumbles forward slightly, before catching herself. She looks up at Sara, and expression of shock on her face, like seeing her again has Ava paralysed. Sara can't say anything. She's frozen as well.

And then Charlotte tugs her hand out of Ava’s, runs forward, hugs Sara, arms tight around her waist. She looks up at Sara. “Are you feeling better?”

“What?”

Ava coughs, pointedly. “You had to leave so suddenly because you got sick, right? We didn't want you getting Charlotte ill again, remember?”

Sara just nods, in a haze, going with the lie. Her hands goes to Charlotte's head on automatic, smoothing through the soft hair there. Charlotte clings to her, and Sara breaks a little more, at the thought that she’d really thought she could run away from her. It was easier to do then, when she was hidden away upstairs. Now, though, Charlotte has her arms around Sara, and Sara feels like it’s going to be impossible to leave her again.

Impossible to leave her, and impossible to leave Ava. Sara stares at her, unable to take her eyes off her, standing there, a coat wrapped tight around her body, her arms wrapped around herself even tighter, as if to keep herself from falling apart. She looks more perfect than ever.

There’s a bite in the air outside that makes the coat necessary. It reminds Sara of how much time has passed, how much things have changed since the last time Charlotte was here. It’s been so long that it had gotten warm and then cold again.

And then Charlotte spots Laurel, and, inexplicably, her eyes light up. “Laurel?” she says, and she's leaving Sara's side, running to Laurel’s. “You said on the phone that if I came you'd get me ice cream.”

So they'd talked as well. Laurel and her… niece. Sara looks at them, and almost feels guilty for cutting them out (or trying to) before Laurel had had a chance to meet Charlotte.

Almost, if Laurel hadn't been scheming behind her back.

Laurel nods, ignoring the betrayed look in Sara’s eyes. “Yeah, I did. We're gonna do that right now. Your”—she hesitates, obviously not sure what to call them—“Ava and Sara need to talk.”

Ava and Sara. Hearing their names together hurts.

Sara feels like her heart has to be beating loud enough for Ava to hear.

“No, Laurel, don't go,” Sara says, not caring if Ava can hear, because she can't deal with this. She feels like she's going to break if Laurel disappears out of that door and takes the only shield Sara has left, if she leaves them alone.

Laurel pauses by her, Charlotte in hand. “It's okay, Sara. She's not mad,” she says, her voice a whisper.

And then she's gone. Both of them are gone, and Sara and Ava are alone.

Ava is still staring at her. Her arms are still wrapped around herself. She bites her lip, blinks, fidgets with her sleeves. Sara can’t take it. She has to break the silence, and all that she can feel that doesn't hurt is anger, so that's what comes out of her mouth. “What the fuck are you doing here, Ava? And with Charlotte? Why the hell did you drag her all the way out here?”

The anger in Sara’s voice lights something behind Ava’s eyes, and she is stirred into motion, stepping forward, towards Sara. “Because you ran away, making it sound like you were running away _forever_ , and you took your fucking SIM out of your phone, Sara. We couldn’t contact you. We didn’t even know if you’d still be here if we came, until Laurel called us.” Her voice is angry, and Laurel’s assurance that she’s not mad seems more dubious by the second.

Sara grits her teeth, shaking her head. “She had no right to do that. You shouldn’t have come here. I didn't want to see you, and she knows that.”

Ava steps even closer. “I don't fucking care if you didn't want to see me, Sara. You can’t just run out of there and expect that to be the end of everything. Not after everything we’ve been through. I'm sorry, but you can't. It's not fair on any of us, least of all Charlotte.”

Sara gapes. “You don't think I was _thinking_ of her?”

“No, I don't think you were, when you got so mad over _one thing_ that we could've talked through that you left without even saying goodbye to her.”

Sara can't believe it. Mad? She wasn't the one who'd been angry, she'd just been reacting to Ava’s disgust. Ava twisting it around to make it seem like it's all on her makes it even worse.

“God. Fuck, Ava. I left because of how much it was going to hurt her if I stayed around, if she had to watch me pining after someone who acted like me kissing them was the worst thing to ever happen to them.”

“What?” Ava breathes, but it's so quiet Sara hardly notices. She doesn’t even have to time to work out what it means, because she’s on a roll, getting angrier, words spilling out.

“I fucking get it if you don't feel that way, alright? I get it. You didn't need to _apologise._ But I couldn't stay there. It wasn't going to be healthy for any of us. Charlotte is better off without having to watch her birth mom pining for her real one, when her real one clearly doesn't give a shit.”

“No, Sara—”

Something in her forces her to mirror Ava’s movements, to step closer. As she speaks, she can’t help but let her voice rise, emotion tingeing every word. “So, I'm sorry for just running out of there, but I couldn't stay there. Not after you looked at me like _that_. I never wanted to have to see you look at me like that again. Maybe I took the easy way out, but I don't care, Ava, I don't fucking—”

Suddenly Ava is in front of her, and she's got her hands on Sara’s arms, holding her. “Sara!” Sara finally stops talking, long enough to shake Ava’s hands away, her touch burning though Sara’s sleeves.

“God, what, Ava? What is there for you to even say? ‘Sorry, I don't feel that way, but you should still come back?’” She spits it out, aggressive.

“No…” Ava says, looking down, shaking her head. “No. Not that.” She pauses again. “Laurel— Laurel put the SIM back in your phone. She said you’d talked to her about me, and that she needed to know what I was saying. That she had a hunch. A hunch about how I was feeling. She saw all the texts from me. Did she show you any of them?”

Sara shakes her head, crossing her arms. “What does it even matter, anyway? Nothing you can say can make this better. I'm in— I have _feelings_ for you, and you don't, and I can't change that.”

And then Ava's smiling, a sad smile. “Why do you think I came all the way out here, Sara? Because I hate you?”

“Because you care more about having me around for Charlotte than how I feel.” It's petty, childish, bitter, but she can't keep the tone out of her voice.

“No. Laurel didn't— she didn't say much about how you felt, just that she'd read my texts to you, and that we needed to sort things out between us, but that you wouldn't answer a text or a call, so I had to come here to make absolutely sure you'd listen to me.”

Sara finally meets Ava’s eyes, after not letting herself look into properly until now. “Why? What the fuck can you say that's so important? That makes it worth coming all the way out here?”

“That I looked like that because I was ashamed of myself, for breaking our rule,” Ava says, devastatingly simply, shrugging, and Sara’s blood freezes in her veins, because if Ava’s saying what she thinks she’s saying then… that changes everything. “I wasn't angry at you. I was angry at myself, for wanting you too much to ignore the one ground rule that _I_ set, right at the beginning. For feeling the way I did. Laurel figured that out from my texts and… whatever it was you told her. That's why she called. She could tell I didn't feel how you thought I did. That I didn't hate you. I… I can see why she wanted me to come here, now—because you feel the same.” Ava finishes, quietly, her hands twisting in front of her.

Sara is still frozen. She still can't fathom the words coming out of Ava’s mouth. They're not fitting together properly. Her brain is hearing them, but not processing them.

“I thought you were angry at me for breaking that rule. I thought that was why you left. You'd always been so— so _good_ ,” Ava says, her voice earnest, guilty, and Sara almost laughs at the descriptor. She's not sure when the last time anyone called her _good_ was. “You'd never pushed at our boundaries after the first day. You never tried anything. God,” Ava continues, looking up. “You even talked to me about people you were dating, asked me if _I_ was seeing anyone. You kept it platonic. You were just good to Charlotte, just like I'd wanted you to be. And I felt like some sort of— some sort of predator for betraying that. Betraying your trust like that.”

It really is almost laughable. That Ava had taken Sara purposely restraining herself from being alone with Ava, for fear of exactly what had happened happening, as her not wanting anything.

“Betraying me—” Sara sounds the words out, but they feel wrong in her mouth. “You thought—”

The thought of Ava blaming herself for all of this hurts even more than what Sara had been assuming before. Sweet, caring Ava, who had thought Sara had run away because she'd been betrayed by the kiss, by Ava crossing a line that wasn’t even there.

“God, I was so ashamed, Sara, I couldn't even tell Charlotte any of it. I had to drag her out here without explaining _anything_ because I knew you wouldn’t give in if she wasn’t here, but I couldn't tell her why you'd gone without her hating me forever. I couldn't tell anyone about it, because I couldn't stand the thought of them looking at me like you had.”

“Why would they have—”

“I kissed you, Sara!” Ava says it like it’s obvious. Her eyes are wide. “And then you ran away. I couldn't tell anyone that! They would've thought I was a terrible person, driving away the one friend I had because I couldn't keep my feelings together.”

Sara's head stops spinning. “So… you thought I was mad at you? For kissing me?” Sara asks. Ava nods. “And I thought you were mad at me,” Sara continues, quietly. “Fuck. I should've just stayed and talked, shouldn't I?”

Ava shrugs. “I mean, yeah, but I don't blame you for leaving. I guess you were… doing what you thought was best. You were thinking of her. I see that now. I didn’t at first. I _was_ mad at you, when you just left. Especially _then_. Right after everything we'd just gone through. But I guess… I see where you were coming from. Even if it was impossible to then. Emotions were heightened, we'd gone through a lot of stress and you... you did what you thought was right, at the time.”

Sara tries to calm the screaming in her mind, the rapid pace of her heartbeat, beating out of time, thudding in her chest. “But you didn't— you didn't hate the kiss?” she asks, needing that final clarification.

“God, no,” Ava says, totally earnest. “I haven't stopped thinking about it. About you. Even when I was mad at you.”

The realisation that it was nothing more than a misunderstanding—that, maybe, they’d both kissed each other, _both_ wanting it, both instinctively making the move without even knowing—is overwhelming. So, Sara’s not thinking, just doing, when she closes the gap between them with two short strides, needing to touch Ava again. She collides with Ava with so much force that she's pushed back against the door, Sara’s hands around Ava's neck, her mouth hard on Ava’s. Ava lets out a soft, “Oh,” and then she’s reciprocating.

And they’re kissing for the second time. Ava tastes slightly sweet, like she's wearing some sort of product on her lips, and it only makes Sara want more.

Her eyes close, and she melts against Ava’s body, sinking into her.

Ava's hands hover for a second, obviously still slightly unsure, her body not having caught up to what her mouth is doing, and then they relax onto the small of Sara’s back, gentle but somehow still firm, keeping Sara up, even while Sara leads the kiss, purposeful. Ava is letting herself be kissed, letting Sara work her mouth open, lick inside, tease at her lips with her teeth. Giving herself over to what Sara wants—more, just _more_ of everything—not stopping Sara as she kisses with a fever, from every angle, trying for the perfect one, her hands moving all over Ava’s face, like she can’t get enough.

The kiss deepens even further, and Sara needs to be able to touch Ava more, needs the coat out of the way, so she unties the belt with practiced ease, nimble fingers unravelling the tight knot there. Ava lets out a slightly surprised noise, but doesn’t break the kiss, doesn’t stop Sara from undoing the shiny gold buttons and pushing the coat off Ava's shoulders until it falls to the floor in a heap of expensive navy wool. Ava makes another noise, a little indignant, presumably at her coat being relegated to the floor, but _still_ doesn’t break the kiss, and that spurs Sara on.

She swings them around, finally moving them away from the door, from where they've been standing, frozen, since Ava got here, and pushes Ava back across the room. Ava gasps in between open mouthed kisses as they stumble across the floor, Sara manoeuvring them around the furniture.

They pause, and Ava gets her hand on the hem Sara’s shirt, and they break apart for a second for Ava to pull it over Sara’s head, and Sara feels like she’s _won_ , because Ava is pulling at her clothes, not just passively letting herself be kissed, and that has to mean she _wants_ this, too. That feels almost as good as the kisses do. There's a sharp intake of breath from Ava as Sara’s chest and stomach are revealed, as the lines of muscle—still there, even after two weeks of neglect—are put on show, and Sara just smirks, kissing her again. The scars are also still there, and Ava traces over them, her fingers light, almost reverent.

Underneath the coat, Ava’s wearing some sort of green cardigan. It’s slightly shapeless, and hides the curves that Sara knows are there—that she needs to see right now, or else. But it's easy enough to unzip and discard—and the cami Ava’s wearing below doesn't hide a single thing. It's dark green, hugging her body, and it looks perfect against her skin.

There's buttons down the front, and Sara's fingers go to them, so she doesn't have to move away from Ava’s mouth, but Ava shakes her head. “No. Just get it off, Sara,” she says, against Sara’s mouth, pleading—another sign that she wants this—and so they break apart again for a second for Sara to pull it over Ava’s head, and then there's so much of her on display, so much more than ever before. An endless spread of smooth skin, a shade darker than Sara’s, the difference just enough to show a contrast when she splays her hand on Ava’s stomach.

Sara takes in Ava’s breasts, the swell of them above the cups, and has to stop their movements across the room. “Fuck, Ava,” she gasps, her mouth dry. “You been hiding these all along? Even on the beach?”

“Funnily enough, yes,” Ava says, drily. Sara just rolls her eyes, pushes her backwards, kissing her again. When they reach the doorway of Sara’s bedroom, Sara presses Ava up against the frame, her hands skating over the new skin on show, pulling sounds out of Ava’s mouth, sounds that get louder when Sara reaches behind Ava’s back, unclips her bra in one easy movement.

It falls to their feet. Ava looks disapproving for a second, and then Sara’s hands are on her breasts, and the look falls away, replaced by one of open-mouthed bliss, one that Sara kisses, eager, not caring in the slightest if she's being sloppy, because Ava’s still kissing back, still squirming under her hands. Sara is drunk on a feeling, ascending, not thinking, not thinking about anything but the feeling of Ava’s lips as they move against her own.

While she's distracted, she feels Ava’s fingers on her zipper, deftly pulling it down, and she grins against Ava’s mouth, before pulling her hands away from Ava’s chest, reaching down to shimmy out of the jeans. She breaks the kiss for half a second to step out of them, and then moves back up to kiss Ava where she still leans against the door frame, her chest heaving, naked from the waist up.

She looks so good it should be criminal.

Sara’s hands go to Ava’s belt loops, pulling her hips to slot against her own, eliciting a gasp from Ava that Sara wants to replay in her mind, over and over and over again. She slides one hand down the outside Ava’s thigh, and then back up on the inside, pressing her finger against the seam, stopping right before she gets anywhere that might be sensitive, might give Ava some relief.

“How expensive are these jeans?” she asks against Ava’s mouth.

They feel expensive. The black is jet black, not faded at all. The denim is buttery soft, but still sturdy. Sara thinks she can see some sort of designer label on them, but she's not concentrating on reading the fabric, just on getting it off, on finding what’s below.

“Expensive,” Ava gets out, after a breath.

“So I shouldn't rip them?”

“If you'd— be so kind,” Ava gasps back in reply, in between kisses.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Sara says, smirking again, “I’ll be gentle.”

So she is. She undoes the button carefully, pulls the zipper down so slowly she's almost stopping it at each individual tooth—and then she remembers that Ava’s still wearing shoes, and crouches down, pulling them off quickly, Ava leaning on Sara’s shoulder for balance as Sara lifts up each foot in turn. She throws the shoes behind her, they hit the floor with a thud, and then moves back up until her face is level with the join of Ava’s legs, her hands on Ava’s hips.

She presses her mouth to the seam there, and, above her, Ava gasps again. She’s nothing but gasps anymore, just open-mouthed wonder at Sara. Her hands thread into Sara’s hair. Her eyes have closed, and she pushes her back against the frame harder, obviously fighting to stay standing. There are going to be indents on her back. Sara already wants to trace them all, kiss each line.

Ava’s legs are trembling, and they tremble even harder when Sara starts to pull the fabric down, slowly, inch by inch, tracing with her mouth the skin revealed by peeling the denim away. When the jean legs reach her ankles, Ava steps out of them, obediently, and Sara finally slides back up Ava’s body, pressing closer than she needs to, feeling every curve and dip of Ava’s body as she does.

Sara finally meets her mouth again. “God,” she mumbles, against her lips. “You’re so— You’re so—” She can’t even finish it.

“And you're eloquent as always,” Ava replies, raising an eyebrow as Sara pulls back, indignant.

“Ava Sharpe. Are you trying to neg me?”

“No. I don't know what that means,” Ava says, and it's not even a joke. Her face is confused, and it's adorable. It’s the longest they’ve gone apart since Sara kissed her, and Sara gets another wonderful look at what Ava looks like kissed, and it’s perfect. So much better than the first time. Her lips are swollen, the makeup that was on them smudged and disappearing. Her cheeks are pink. Her eyes shine, her pupils blown.

“Maybe the word I was looking for was so ‘old’,” Sara says, and it's Ava’s turn to look indignant.

“Sara!”

Sara doesn't apologise, just pulls Ava’s face back towards hers, kissing the indignance away, until Ava is laughing against her mouth instead of frowning, until she's pliable enough to pull away from the doorway, to pull across the bedroom and deposit onto the bed. Ava sits on the edge, stares up at Sara, and her tongue runs over her lips. It's now obvious that that's a tell for her, because her eyes are hungry. Sara thinks back to every time Ava had looked at her a little like that before, wonders how she missed that, the pining and desire obvious in that one movement.

“Beautiful. That's the word I was looking for,” Sara says, reaching down to brush her fingers over Ava's face. Ava actually blushes, more pink rising on her cheeks, her fingers going to her neck, pressing in, a nervous gesture that Sara’s come to know well.

Sara reaches behind her back to pull at the catch on her bra, and Ava shakes her head. “You don't want it off?” Sara asks, quizzical.

“No,” Ava says, shaking her head. “No. Not that. Just... let me. Come over here.” Sara moves closer, and closer still, and even closer, until her knees bump against Ava’s, and then Ava pulls her into her lap in one fluid, almost practiced movement, and Sara stops breathing. “Yeah. Like that.” Ava’s voice is rough, low, dripping with need. It makes Sara’s want even stronger, heat in her stomach rising, spreading through her body.

She doesn't inhale once as Ava’s fingers work the hooks undone, as she pulls the straps down Sara’s arms, as she lets it fall away. She's concentrating as she does, and Sara can't help but drink in every tiny line of her face, can't help memorise what it looks like from this close up.

When the bra hits the ground, Sara finally breathes again. “God, you're beautiful,” she repeats, looking at Ava in awe. Her fingers move to rest against Ava’s hips, stroking gently, feeling goosebumps rising under her fingertips.

“I think that's my line,” Ava says, quietly, her eyes roaming over Sara’s body.

It feels like deflection. Like she doesn’t want to accept the compliment. Sara tries again. “You're so beautiful. You know that, right?”

Ava ducks her head. “I've had better days. When I was— younger.”

Sara immediately feels bad for the jab earlier, hastens to assure Ava that she's beautiful now, that she's never seen anyone more beautiful than her, here, right now. “God, Ava, no, you're so— right now— you're so beautiful, how could you even—” Sara, stops, realises something. “Fuck. When was the last time someone call you beautiful?”

“That wasn't Charlotte?” Ava muses. “I don't know. I guess maybe my ex…” She keeps talking, but Sara’s not listening, not hearing, because it's like a switch has been flipped at the sound of _that name._ The reason they're both here. Her head stops spinning, her mind grinding to a halt. She groans, her face falling into Ava’s shoulder, her body curving away from Ava’s, the exact opposite of what it wants to be doing, but what she has to do. At the sound of the groan, at Sara’s movements, Ava stops speaking, her expression turning worried. “Are you okay? Sara?”

Sara shakes her head. “Fuck. No. No. Fuck. Stop. We have to stop.”

“What?” Ava asks, but her hands immediately pull away from where they had been resting on Sara’s waist, pulling back at the sound of Sara's words.

“Ava. We have to stop.” She pushes herself off Ava’s lap, finds the bra on the floor, picking it back up, doing it up again. She sees disappointment in Ava’s eyes, but still moves away, her legs not listening to her heart, only her mind. “Fuck. I'm sorry. I’m sorry. We can't— Fuck. _God_. The whole reason we got in this mess is because we both _knew_ that we couldn't do this. Sure, we were wrong about being angry at each other, but we weren't wrong about _why_ we might have been angry, were we?”

“I don't— I don't—” Ava is almost speechless, confused, her eyes desperately searching Sara’s face, and Sara takes the blame for that. She'd built Ava up and up, and now she'd pulled the brakes, stopped them in their tracks.

Sara sighs. “We can't do this. I have… feelings for you. And I’m pretty sure you do too. But that's not enough. We don't know what it's going to be like six months, a year, hell, five years in the future. It's still too much of a risk. Nothing has changed, not really. Charlotte’s too much to risk. She's always going to be too much to risk. She's more important than this. Than… us.”

She sits down next to Ava, careful not to touch. Ava falls back against the sheets, staring up at the ceiling, and Sara follows her.

“Too much of a risk,” Ava echoes. Her hand goes to her forehead. “God. Fuck. You're right. I didn't— Fuck. What was I doing? I came here to get you back, to explicitly make sure you knew that there didn't have to be any romantic side to things between us, that there _wouldn't be._ I thought that was what you needed. And then—”

“I kissed you,” Sara supplies, gloomily. “I was too eager. You'd just— you'd just basically admitted to feelings, and I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry.”

“I kissed back,” Ava says, in answer. “I wasn’t thinking, either. I didn’t expect… Laurel didn’t let on that you felt the same. I guess she wanted us to figure it out for ourselves. I didn’t expect you to say what you did. I wasn’t prepared for… for that to happen, so... I kissed back.”

“Yeah,” Sara says, turning her head to look at Ava. “You did. You're right. It's your fault.” Ava shakes her head, rolling her eyes, but doesn't fight it. Sara sighs. “You're fucking good at it, though, Sharpe. You need to find someone. Someone that's not me. The world’s missing out on you.”

Ava's cheeks colour again. “I’d say the same, but I don't think the world’s missing out on anything, are they?”

Sara purses her lips together in mock thought. “No,” she says, eventually. “They're not.”

“Didn't think so,” Ava says, and there's a flash of jealousy there, just the tiniest amount, almost proof that they'd never work anyway, if they ever got farther than the rushed sex they’d been stumbling towards at the speed of light. Her hand goes to face again, and her expression contorts. “God. I'm terrible. What sort of mother am I? I practically— I practically forgot her.”

“Hey. No. Don't say that. You're not terrible. You're never going to be terrible. Nothing happened. It's fine.”

“Is it?” Ava asks.

In a way, the damage has already been done. In a way, this was the only way things could go, at least with them still speaking, and so maybe it's the best result anyway. This detente.

“Yes,” Sara says, firmly. “We’re gonna be okay. I’ll come back. I won’t run away again. She’s not going to lose me. You’re not going to lose me. It’s going to be okay.”

They stay like that for a couple of minutes more. Ava is still topless, her arms crossed across her chest, her bra further away than Sara’s, and Sara is pointedly ignoring that. “How long did you and Laurel agree she'd be out when you were plotting behind my back?”

“I said I'd text her,” Ava says, ignoring the snipe at hers and Laurel’s expense. “So they won't burst in on us, if that's what you're worried about.”

That's probably a good thing, since their clothes are quite literally strewn across the entire apartment.

It's Sara that eventually gets up, finds Ava’s bra and cami, and chucks them back at her. Ava pulls them on, and then Sara pulls her up into a standing position. They're close, Sara’s fingers wrapped around Ava’s wrist, and then Ava tugs them even closer. Too close, for what they've just decided. Close enough to smell her again, smell her perfume, her shampoo. It's heady, and Sara can't take it. It almost feels mean.

Their mouths are inches away from each other. Ava’s lips are slightly parted. From this close, Sara could count her eyelashes, could learn every line of her face. It hurts.

“Ava, come on,” Sara says, twisting her face away. “Don't do this.”

“No, I'm not— I'm not— I mean, I am, but, god, just hold _still,”_ Ava says, her hand going to Sara’s face, stopping it from where it’s been weaving back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut. “I need to kiss you again. I wasn’t _thinking_ before. You stopped me thinking, stopped every logical part of my brain, and I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking about the consequences, so I couldn't know— couldn't realise it was going to be a last kiss. Now I am. Let me kiss you. One more time. Please, Sara, and then we never have to talk about this again.”

Her voice is aching with sadness, with desperation. For the first time, at the worst possible moment, Sara realises how deep Ava’s feelings might be. How, maybe, they match up with hers, in intensity. She hadn’t quite been able to tell before. She’d pulled dozens of women across her apartment like she had Ava, and they’d all reacted similarly. Gasps of want aren’t a good indicator of feelings. But this… this is something different, and it scares Sara.

She blinks, shocked, and is silent for a second. Her eyes sting, and then she realises that she’s forcing back tears. Part of her doesn’t want to do this, knowing it’s going to hurt. Part of her, the part of her that’s in control, is begging her to say yes. For closure, for one last taste of what could’ve been. But also just for another chance to kiss Ava, to touch her, to have her that close.

“Okay,” Sara sighs. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Sara nods, lets go of Ava’s wrist, and Ava immediately brings her hand up to match her other one, pressing it against Sara’s cheek, tilting her head upwards, angling her mouth just right, just right to kiss her like they're never going to kiss again. Her fingers stroke against Sara’s cheek. Her lips move on Sara’s.

Sara's hands move to rest lightly on Ava’s chest, needing to touch one last time while she's allowed.

Ava kisses Sara with precision, like she's practiced this, like she knows exactly how to make it feel better than anything.

It's not messy. It's perfectly placed. It's not rushed. It's slow. It's not hot hands pulling at clothes, desperate for relief. It's cool fingers on Sara’s burning skin.

Every second it goes on, Sara’s heart breaks into smaller pieces, but she has to be a masochist, because she never wants it to end. The pain is the best thing and the worst thing she’s ever felt. Ava is the best and worst person she's ever kissed. She's still cupping Sara's face like she's afraid to let go, her fingers barely even pressing in, as though, if she presses in too hard, Sara will bruise, will break. No-one has ever kissed her quite like _this_ , like she's quite this precious, like losing her is something truly terrible, and Sara doesn't know what to do except kiss back and try not to cry.

Ava pulls away, too soon, always too soon. She leans her forehead against Sara’s. “Just friends,” she whispers, and it's a paradox, because she's whispering it into Sara’s mouth, while they breathe the same air, and, in that moment, they're anything but _just friends_.

Sara carefully removes Ava’s fingers from her face. “Just friends,” she says, gritting her teeth.

 

When Laurel and Charlotte get back, they're sitting in Sara’s living room, fully dressed, feet of space between them.

“Everything okay?” Laurel asks, eyes darting between them.

It's Ava who speaks first. She smiles, and it doesn't quite reach her eyes, but Laurel wouldn't notice that. Laurel doesn't know her like Sara does. “Peachy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this time i really am sorry i know that was CRUEL AS HELL but this is SLOW BURN and they've still got a little ways to go and may i please just remind you of the note at the beginning: the angst isn't over until it's over. so don't say i didn't warn you. 
> 
> also, just as a guide, this fic is 7 chapters plus an epilogue. the epilogue is much shorter and much less angsty, and the plot is wrapped up before then, so you don't have MUCH longer to go before thing get tied up. hang in there. i promise it's all worth it.
> 
> oh and [this](https://cdna.lystit.com/photos/2013/06/13/burberry-navy-new-littleton-goldbutton-trench-product-3-10726578-552113827.jpeg) is ava's coat bc obviously it's v important to have visuals for this sort of thing. it's like $1000 because ava in this fic is the sort of person who wears $1000 coats


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again. long chapter. plan accordingly etc etc.  
> Don't worry, no heartbreak like the last two chapters in this one.
> 
> there's a lot of texting in this chapter. i have tried many ways to show this, but it still never looks great. anyway, if texts are all in one paragraph, they were sent at the same time, as a series of texts. if there's a paragraph break, there was time between when they were sent. just roll with it hopefully you can work it out haha

Everything feels impossible to deal with, and then Charlotte appears from behind Laurel’s legs, and, suddenly, Sara remembers why they're doing this, why they're fighting everything.

It's because of this girl, too young and innocent and hopeful for her own good. Seeing her again, properly, not ill or for a fleeting moment, reminds Sara that it's going to be worth it. She would do anything for her.

Charlotte runs across the room, settles in the space between them, filling the gap between them perfectly, and they hadn't planned that, but it's like they had. Like they'd meant to leave just enough space between them for her to slot in. Like that's just their natural state of being—waiting to be joined together by her.

That's how it should be—with her as their link, and nothing else.

Ava’s arm goes around her automatically. “Hey, baby, how was ice cream?” she asks, her voice gentle.

“Good. Laurel let me get three scoops. She said you guys needed time to talk. Did you talk?” she asks, looking from Ava to Sara, a hopeful expression on her face. Her legs swing off the edge of the couch.

“Yeah.” Sara smiles back. “Yeah, we talked.”

“About?”

“Adult things, baby,” Ava says, her hand coming up to stroke through Charlotte’s hair, soothing. “You don't need to worry about it. Everything's going to be fine.”

But Charlotte frowns. “Was everything not fine?” Ava winces, obviously realising her mistake. “Mom? Sara? Was something wrong?”

It's a testament to how much Ava had hidden, but also how blissfully oblivious Charlotte had been until now that something was off, that Charlotte is only just noticing. That she hadn't registered when Sara left, suddenly, when Sara was reluctant to let them in.

Ava's eyes go wide, and she's panicking, obviously not knowing what to say, so Sara steps in. “We had an argument. Adults do that sometimes. It happens when people… when people care a lot, and we do—we both care about you a lot. We had an argument, but it’s all sorted out now. Everything's going back to normal.” Ava looks at her with something like gratefulness on her face, thankful to Sara for handling it.

Or, almost handling it, because Charlotte, of course, is now noticing _everything_. “You argued about… me?” Her lip is wobbling, and Ava sighs, pulling her onto her lap.

“Hey. No. Not _about_ you, baby,” she says, wiping some of Charlotte's hair out of her face, her touch gentle, her expression even more so. “It was about us. We were just both… extra emotional, because we both love you, and that means it's important that… we have a good relationship. Things got stressful. It was stressful for all of us when you were ill—and that's not _your_ fault, baby, promise, but it was just… it was hard for all of us. But we sorted it out, didn't we, Sara?” she finishes, looking to Sara for confirmation.

“Yeah. We sorted it out. It's all okay, Lottie, promise.”

The more she says the words, the more she believes them. Even if it doesn't feel like it's ever going to be okay, Sara is determined to _make_ it okay, for Charlotte.

“Pinky promise?” Charlotte asks, and Sara nods, holding out her finger, reaching across the gap, but Sara’s too far away, so she scoots closer, closer to Ava—but also closer to Charlotte, and that's what matters. She links fingers with Charlotte, and Charlotte smiles, content just like that, after just a few reassuring words from Ava and Sara.

When Sara looks up, Laurel is looking at them, and Sara can imagine what they look like. The perfect family picture.

And then she realises that Laurel has no idea what went down, that she'd known Ava had feelings, had known Sara had them too, and might be assuming (fairly) that something had changed. After all, that's why she'd left them together, even if Ava hadn't known that.

Sara gets up, ignoring Ava’s protest, pulls Laurel into the bedroom, needing to speak to her right away, because she can't risk Laurel saying anything that might jeopardise the sacrifice they've both just made to keep the peace.

The bed is slightly rumpled. Laurel eyes it, raising her eyebrows. Sara winces.

“Did you—”

“No. No, Laurel, that's why I'm talking to you right now,” she hisses, trying to stop any sound from travelling. “Nothing happened.”

She hears Charlotte laugh, hears Ava laugh, and her heart grows in size.

Laurel looks confused. When she speaks, her voice matches Sara’s in volume. “But she felt the same, Sara. I gave you time. Did I not give you enough time? Ava said we could come back. Should I not have? I don't understand—”

Sara shakes her head. “You gave us plenty of time. We realised that it didn't matter how we felt. It was still too much of a risk. We’re just staying friends. It's best for all of us.”

“Oh, Sara.” Laurel’s expression twists into sadness.

“It's _fine._ ”

“It's not, though, babe, is it?” Laurel says, sweeping Sara’s hair from her eyes, and then she pauses, her fingers stilling. “Oh. _Oh_ , I see.”

“What?” Sara asks. “What is it?”

Laurel doesn't answer, instead, rubs her thumb gently over the corner of Sara’s mouth. Her fingertip, when she pulls it away, is tinged slightly pink.

Sara's not wearing any sort of lip makeup. Ava is.

That lip stain that tasted of sugar, that Ava had carefully re-applied in the mirror, while watching Sara remove any trace of it from her own mouth. She'd thought she'd scrubbed herself clean, but obviously not quite. She'd almost blown it, would've blown it if Charlotte had looked hard enough.

“Oh, Sara,” Laurel says again, but this time it's even more pitying. From anyone else other than Laurel Sara would hate that tone. From Laurel it’s just about bearable. “How far did you get?”

Sara thinks, for a split second, of a hot mouth on hers, of the sound Ava had made when Sara had kissed the join of her legs, of fingers lingering over her bare skin.

_How far did you get?_

There's two answers to that, and both are right and both are wrong.

Too far. Not far enough.

Sara shifts away, wiping at her mouth, and nods at the bed, settles on an answer. “Far enough to make the bed look like that.”

Neutral. Not making a judgment about the merit of what had (and what hadn't) happened. Just stating facts.

“You said nothing—”

“I didn't lie. Nothing happened. We kissed. Got rid of our clothes. Stopped. That's it. Nothing more. Didn't even get past second base.” In Sara's mind, that's basically nothing. She didn't get to touch Ava like she wanted to. She didn't get to feel Ava fall apart under her fingers. She didn't get to feel Ava pulling _her_ apart.

Nothing happened.

“Are you okay?” Laurel asks.

“No,” Sara says, simply. “And I don't think I will be for a while. But I guess I will be, eventually? Maybe?”

Laurel pulls her into a hug, her hand coming up to cup Sara’s head, keeping her tight, safe. “You’ll get through this. For her. For Charlotte.”

She's hit the nail on the head, going straight to the one thing she knows is what's keeping Sara going. Straight to the person that she had obviously _known_ Sara couldn't just leave behind, no matter what she, in the middle of her grief, had said. “Yeah. I just need to be able to see her more, remind me why I'm doing this.”

“How were you planning on doing that?” Laurel asks.

Sara takes a breath. “Did you still have a realtor friend I could talk to in Star City?” She'd been thinking of this since the second her and Ava had stopped kissing, hadn't stopped since then. It seems like the only option, the only way this can work.

“Yeah. Yeah. You really thinking of moving back?”

Sara nods, biting her lip, her hands going to her back pockets. “Yeah. I think so. I need to be closer to everyone. I’m too far away from everything. It’s making everything harder. If I can see them more often…. Everything’s going to be easier.”

It seems counter-intuitive—to want to see them more, after everything that had happened—but to Sara, it makes sense.

“Okay, okay. Yeah. We can do that. I can help you find somewhere. I know people. What’s your credit like?”

Shrugging, Sara looks away. “Not great. Especially recently. I haven’t been taking as many jobs as I could’ve.”

“That’s fine. It’ll be fine. I can help you, if I have to. But maybe… don’t tell Charlotte until you know for sure,” Laurel says. “You don’t want to get her hopes up.”

“Yeah.” Sara shuffles from foot to foot. “This whole thing is about not getting her hopes up. I’ll tell Ava, I guess. I’m supposed to be keeping her in the loop. She’d probably want to know this.” She sighs, eventually meeting Laurel’s eyes again. “When you talked to Ava, did she say where she was staying? With you here, there isn’t space for them both here. I mean, I guess I could try something. I might have an airbed, or if you slept in here with me...”

“She’s got a hotel. It’s okay.”

“Right.” Of course Ava would’ve sorted that out. Sara's not disappointed. Definitely not. It’s not like part of her wanted them staying over. She pushes the thought down. “Right,” she repeats. “Okay. I should probably go back out, then. They’re going to wonder…”

Laurel gestures back into the living room. “Lead the way.”

It takes Sara a second to move, to bring up the willpower to force herself back in there. When she does, when she opens the door, Ava looks up, smiles, and Sara’s heart does a flip. Charlotte is reading something on Ava’s phone, still perched on Ava’s lap. Ava’s arm is still tight around her, as if she doesn’t want to ever let her go.

“Everything alright?” Ava asks. “You kinda ran out of there.”

“Yeah,” Sara nods. “Just had to… talk to Laurel about things. Adult things,” she says, and Ava obviously catches her drift, because her eyebrows just raise minutely, and she nods. Charlotte doesn’t notice any of it, oblivious. “And, actually, can I talk to you, just quickly?”

Ava nods again, shifts Charlotte off her lap. Charlotte looks up for a second, and then is back to being engrossed by the phone, and whatever is on it which is letting out occasional beeps. Laurel moves across the room to take Ava’s place, sliding into the seat Ava had just vacated, talking softly to Charlotte about it, distracting her.

It’s all a carefully choreographed dance, trying to keep her away from all the ugliness going on behind the scenes.

Sara moves into the kitchen. The bedroom would be more private, but she can’t stand the thought of Ava in there, and isn’t even sure Ava would go if she tried to get her in there. It’s better they’re here, out in the open.

“Is something wrong?” Ava asks. “With Laurel?”

“No. No.” Sara shakes her head, looking down. She lowers her voice until it's hardly more than a whisper. “I was just… bringing her up to date. With what… happened… with us.” She grimaces at the words, sees Ava flinch. “But I just wanted to talk to you now to say... I think I’m going to move. Or try to, at least.”

“Oh.” Ava’s eyebrows shoot up. “Where? Is this for a job? Are you still going to be able to visit? If you need to come less often, I’m sure Charlotte would understand—”

“No,” Sara puts her hand up, stopping Ava. When Ava stops talking, Sara’s grimaces again, her fingers going to the bridge of her nose. “No. I’m moving closer. Back home—to Star City,” she clarifies.

“Oh,” Ava repeats. “Really?”

“Yeah. If you think it would be a good idea, I mean. Me being closer. I’d be able to come visit more often. Much more often.”

“Much more often,” Ava echoes, her voice soft. “That would be…. that would be great.” She nods, as if trying to convince herself. “No, yeah, that would be great.” Her voice has more conviction the second time she says it.

“If you don’t want me to come more often, I don’t have to—”

“No,” Ava says, and her voice is finally as firm as it usually is. “That would be great. I was just— No. You should definitely do that.”

Sara can almost finish the sentence for Ava. She was just hesitant because seeing Sara that much is going to hurt. She rocks forward, slightly closer to Ava, lowering her voice again. “It’ll be good for us. For you. Seeing me more often. Makes it less of a special occasion. I know now doesn't… doesn't feel like a good time, but it is. I promise.”

Ava coughs, looking away. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Okay. Cool,” Sara says, her voice too cheery. She goes to touch Ava on the arm, and thinks better of it, and leaves her hand where it is, burning at her side. She hates that they're dancing around each other, hesitant. “Cool.”

“Yeah,” Ava says. “Cool.” The word sounds foreign in her mouth. “Cool.” She’s looking anywhere but Sara, and then she looks at her watch. “God. It's later than I thought. Okay. We should head out. We’ve got a—”

“Hotel. Yeah. Laurel said. Have you eaten dinner?”

Ava shakes her head.

“I should give you something. You need to have something to eat.”

At this, Ava smiles a crooked smile. “You have something to give us?” she asks, and her voice is teasing, a little like it used to be before, before everything happened, and in that tone, Sara hears the possibility that maybe they can get through this.

Sara crosses her arms, indignant. “Yes.” Then she considers. “Laurel, do I have food?” she asks, raising her voice.

Laurel looks up from the couch. “No. We were going to get pizza, remember?”

Sara looks back at Ava, and that same smile is still there. “Okay. So we don’t have food. But you can stay for pizza, if you’re not against Charlotte being completely and utterly unhealthy for one evening.”

“I—” Ava doesn’t seem to know what to say. Sara can see conflict on her face.

“It’s this or ordering sad hotel food,” Sara says, “and our pizza place happens to be excellent.”

Sara can almost see the moment Ava gives in, can almost see it in the way her body language softens, giving in. “Yeah. Okay.” She moves away, and Sara stays where she is, fighting the instinct to follow Ava, to stay close.

She just watches from the kitchen as Ava moves back to the couch, leans over the back, whispering in Charlotte’s ear, every single thing about her movements soft. Laurel leaves the couch, joins Sara in the kitchen, joins Sara in watching them. “I can see why you love them,” she says, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Charlotte was so sweet when we were out together. She's lovely. So is Ava. We didn't talk much in the phone but… she cares so much, Sara. So much. Even if you're not together… I'm glad she's still in your life. She's amazing. They're _both_ amazing.”

“Yeah. They are.” Sara nods. “And, God. There was a moment. With Ava. Like we were back to normal. Like before. If we can keep that up, we’ll be fine.”

Laurel nods, stepping closer, wrapping her arm around Sara’s shoulders. Sara’s head goes to her shoulder on automatic. “You’ve gotten through a lot. You can get through this. It’ll be worth it.”

“Yeah,” Sara says, softly, her eyes still on them. Ava has sat down next to Charlotte, and they’re talking animatedly. Ava’s eyes are intent on Charlotte, nodding, paying the utmost attention like she does to anyone she talks to. She has a way of doing that that feels like she’s looking into your soul. “Yeah. It will.”

They order the food. Ava orders pineapple on hers, and for a second, Sara forgets everything that’s happened, and reverts back to mercilessly teasing her, relishing in the way Ava fights back, the type of arguing that had become familiar to them. Bickering with no meaning behind it. Laurel gets on Ava’s side. Charlotte is with Sara.

It feels like a normal family thing to argue about. Not whether or not they can be together. It’s comfortable, arguing in a good-natured way, about something that doesn’t matter.

When they arrive, Sara makes another face at Ava’s pizza, and Ava just rolls her eyes back. They eat spread out on the floor, because Sara’s tiny excuse for a dining table wasn’t designed for four people, and neither was her couch. Ava looks funny on the floor, her back straight, posture perfect. Charlotte leans into her, and Ava eats with one hand around her, making soothing circles on Charlotte's arm with her thumb. Sara just watches, trying to make it look like she’s not.

At some point Ava tries to get Sara to eat some of her pizza, and it’s only when Ava leans over, waving the slice at Sara, that they seem to remember at the same time, Ava freezing as she gets too close. She pulls back, like she’s been burnt.

Only Laurel notices. Charlotte is too busy staring down her own slice, examining it, suspicious, as if there might be something different to it than all the other slices she had eaten perfectly happily.

The rest of the evening passes without incident. Without any of them noticing, it gets to eleven, and it’s only at Charlotte drooping, falling asleep that they realise. Ava jumps up. “God. It’s late. We need to go.”

She’s collecting their things up in a whirlwind, bundling Charlotte up with promises of bed soon. Charlotte speaks, her voice slightly petulant. “Wanna stay here with Sara.”

“She doesn’t have enough space, sweetie. We’ll see her in the morning.”

“Stay here,” Charlotte says, stubborn.

Ava looks at Sara for help. Sara steps in. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah? If you go with your mom, I’ll make you french toast in the morning when you come back.”

At this, Charlotte’s eyes light up, and the fight goes away. It’s like Sara’s flipped a switch, because then she’s back to falling asleep almost instantly. Ava shakes her, gently, looking up at Sara, grateful. “Come on, baby. Stay awake. We gotta get to the car.”

Charlotte’s eyes flutter open, and she seems to wake up just enough to pull her shoes on, to be put into her coat. When she’s ready, when Ava’s pulled her coat back on—Sara blinks away memories from her mind at the feeling of the fabric under her fingers, the sight of it crumpled on the floor where Sara had dropped it—Ava grips Charlotte’s hand, moves towards the door.

On impulse, Sara follows them out. “I’ll come with you to the car. It’s not the best neighborhood.”

Ava smiles a half smile, raising an eyebrow. “You’re our protection, huh?”

“How many fistfights have you been in, Ava?” When Ava doesn’t respond, Sara closes the door behind her, wrapping her cardigan further around herself. “Yeah, I thought so. Bounty hunter, remember?” she says, pointing at herself.

Ava just nods, starts walking. Sara moves to Charlotte’s side, and then, before she knows it, Charlotte has her hand, linking all three of them together. Once again, an unbearable picture of a family. Sara tries not to think about it, about who Charlotte is linking Sara to by extension, focuses instead on Charlotte’s hand, on her own breathing, on anything but Ava.

After a couple of minutes of walking, they reach the car. Ava puts Charlotte inside, closes the door on her. “Made it unscathed,” she says. “No attacks.”

Without Charlotte as a buffer, Sara moves further away. “Well, you never know. Better to be on the safe side.”

“Yeah,” Ava says, “I suppose. Although, now you’ve got to walk back on your own.” She screws her mouth up in obvious concern. Always worried, always caring, even now.

Sara waves this away. “I’m hard. No-one’s going to fuck with me.”

“Hmm,” Ava hums, like she almost doesn’t believe this, now she’s seen Sara at her most vulnerable. “If you say so.”

“I do, Sharpe. I do.” She coughs. “Well. I’ll— I’ll see you two in the morning. Bright and early,” she says, because she knows Charlotte is an early riser.

“Yeah. See you in the morning.” Ava ducks her head, smiling sadly, and then she’s in the car, and is gone.

Sara makes the walk back to the apartment slowly. Laurel has cleared up when she gets back. She looks up as Sara enters. “They get off okay?” Sara just nods, slowly. “Good.” She points at Sara with a fork. “You should sleep.”

She should, but the thought of the bed, of sleeping in it, under the sheets that Ava had touched, when they were so close to everything Sara had wanted for months, makes her want to throw up. “Can I sleep in here with you?” she asks, and Laurel nods, without even having to ask why.

“Yeah, of course.”

Sara has always slept better with Laurel there, and that night is no different. She falls asleep relatively quickly, curled up against her sister.

 

She, of course, dreams about Ava, about kissing her, about it going further, about going all the way. But her mind is merciful, and when she wakes up, the memory of what she had dreamt is gone, only a vague feeling that it was something good remaining. She smiles as she cooks the toast she had promised, one of the only things she’s good at cooking.

“Sleep well?” Laurel asks.

“Yeah.” Sara nods. “I actually did.”

Waking up in a good mood makes seeing Ava easier. Breakfast passes, easily, without trouble. Afterwards, Charlotte is restless, and Sara takes her out into the city, because Ava is still understandably tired from the drive. Laurel seems excited to have more time to get to know her, to get to know the woman who means so much to Sara in more ways than one, and is fine being left behind.

The day passes quickly, and, before Sara knows it, they’re going home. They take the bus, and Charlotte is dozing against Sara’s side, Sara's arm protectively around her. Sara isn’t paying attention to anything in particular when a voice from opposite her speaks up.

She looks up, sees a woman speaking to them. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I was just saying, she’s your spitting image. You’re a lovely pair.” It’s an old woman, well-meaning, and not possibly knowing how many complicated feelings her words are causing to rise in Sara. “She’s going to grow up just as beautiful as her mom, I’m sure.”

 _Her mom._ Sara doesn’t correct her, because it’s far too much to explain. She realises that she hasn't been out much with Charlotte anywhere but Starling, where everyone knows her story and who she is.

She just nods, because that’s all she can do. “Thank you. That’s uh— that’s kind.”

And then she pauses, looking down at Charlotte, because, for the first time, the word didn’t make her flinch, or want to run away. It felt almost… good? Maybe? Charlotte shifts, still half asleep, pressing in closer, and Sara can’t help the fond smile on her face.

She’s loved her since practically the first day, but the word, that one word, has always put her on edge, and, all of a sudden, it doesn’t, not quite. That doesn’t mean anything, not really, but it’s a nice thing to realise.

That night, after they arrive back, they go straight back to the hotel. Sara and Charlotte had eaten out. Laurel and Ava had finished the leftovers from the previous night.

Sara sleeps on the sofabed with Laurel again.

 

They drop in the next morning, on their way back to Starling. Charlotte hugs Sara goodbye, and anything less than a hug for Ava would’ve seemed weird, so Sara steps up to her, arms out. Ava hugs her, not holding anything back, wrapping her arms around Sara, holding tight. “Thank you,” she whispers in Sara’s ear, and Sara isn’t sure what it’s for, but she still understands.

Sara is the one to pull back. “I’ll see you two soon. As soon as possible.”

Ava just nods at this, the corners of her mouth creasing upwards. And then they’re gone, and Sara lets out a breath, leaning against the doorway. She turns to Laurel. “That was… something.”

Laurel’s mouth twists. “You’re glad I called her?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

She is. She would only have spiralled deeper if things had stayed as they were. As things are now, they’re better. There’s less despair. She gets to stay in both of their lives, and that’s what matters.

Sara sighs. “Thank you… for… whatever it is you did. Thank you. I was wrong to— I was wrong to try to run away.”

She makes her way across the room, collapses on the couch. Laurel joins her, tilts her head in acknowledgement. “I knew you just needed a nudge, babe. I knew you didn’t really want to leave them, no matter how much you were hurting. Once I saw Ava’s texts… I knew I had to get her here. She didn't… she didn't strictly admit to anything, but… it was obvious how she felt.

“God, babe, it was even obvious just from how you talked about her. From the way you said she acted towards you. But you were…” Laurel sighs. “You were oblivious, and hurting, and angry, and I knew you wouldn't listen to anything I tried to tell you. Showing the texts wouldn't have helped, because if you couldn't see how she felt when she was right in front of you, texts weren't going to help. So I got her here.”

Sara nods, draws her knees up against her, feeling small. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then says, “Can I have my phone back?”

A smile breaks on Laurel’s face, then dampens slightly. “Yeah. I mean. Of course. But are you sure you want to see it? Right now? It might hurt.”

“Yeah, no. I know. I just need to see.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Laurel pushes herself off the sofa, crosses the room, pulls Sara's phone out of a drawer. Back on the couch, she drops it into Sara’s hand. Sara unlocks it, then looks up in confusion. “How'd you get into it? To call her?”

Laurel shrugs. “You've used the same passcode on everything since you were thirteen, babe.”

“Oh.”

It's true, but Sara hadn't expected Laurel to remember that.

“You haven't changed as much as you think you have, Sara.”

Sara doesn't know what to say to that, so she just stays silent, staring down at the phone in her hand. The messages app stares back. After thirty seconds of stalling, she pulls off the bandaid, opens the app, sees Ava’s name at the top. She clicks on it, and scrolls up, until she reaches the last message she'd sent Ava—and the first one Ava had sent her after she left.

 _Sara. Don't do this. I_  
_know you're probably_  
_driving right now, but_  
_please._  
_I can't lose you like this._  
_We can't lose_ _you like this._

There's a break, and then more texts, from ten minutes later.

 _Just… I need to talk_ _to_  
_you. Please pick up the_  
_phone when I ring._

 _You didn't pick up the_  
_phone. I'm not_ _sure_  
_what I expected._  
_Fuck. That didn't_ _send._

Sara winces, realising that she's gotten to the moment Laurel got rid of the SIM. Her heart aches. She looks up. “All the texts she tried to send while I had the SIM out… they came through when you put it back in?”

Laurel nods. “I'm pretty sure they did. They all came in at once. They still had the right time stamps though. I don't know how it works, but they came through, eventually.”

Sara sighs, goes back to the phone.

 _What did you do,_ _Sara?_  
_Google says you've either_  
_blocked me or taken_  
_your SIM out._  
_I guess I should stop_  
_texting now._

Sara swallows, steeling herself, and keeps scrolling. The next text is from the next morning.

 _I know I said I'd stop_  
_texting, but I can't. I_  
_can't just let_ _you leave._  
_If you'd just talk to me,_  
_I could explain._

There's only one text from the next day.

 _I'm going to keep_  
_sending these until it_  
_stops me, even if_  
_they're not sending._  
_Google says they'll_  
_deliver if you put your_  
_SIM back in._  
_I don't know how_  
_else to contact you.  
_

And then there's a gap, a day where she didn't send anything. Sara aches at the thought of Ava feeling so low that she couldn't say anything.

The day after that is the day they drove home, and there's just one text.

 _I told Charlotte you_  
_were ill, that that's_  
_why you left. I don't_  
_know what to do_  
_without you._

And then, the next day, a flood of texts, all sent with gaps of hours in between them, like Ava kept talking herself out of sending more, and then thinking the better of it.

_I miss you. I'm sorry._

_I need you, Sara. I_  
_meant what I said._

 _I need you. I can't_  
_do this without you,_  
_not anymore._

_Charlotte needs you.  
We both do._

_Wait. That last one sent._  
_They're all sending, now._  
_Sara?_

There's one final text, sent from Sara’s phone.

 _Ava. Hi. It's not Sara._  
_It's Laurel. I'm going_  
  _to call_ _you._

She sets the phone down. Laurel looks up.

“What did you talk about? On the phone?”

Laurel shrugs. “Not so much. I think she already told you most of it. I just told her that you weren't mad, just sad—but that nothing was going to change if she didn't come here, if she didn't bring Charlotte with her.” She sighs. “I could _hear_ how much she loves you, Sara. I wasn't one hundred percent sure until I talked to her, but I was certain once I did. She loves you.”

“Just as a friend, now,” Sara says, her voice low.

“Yeah. Maybe,” Laurel says. “Maybe.”

They both know that you can't just turn off love just like that, but Laurel doesn't push it.

Silence falls after that.

Sara sends a text to Ava.

 _I read these texts._  
_I'm so sorry for_  
_running away. Really,_  
_I am. I shouldn't_  
_have put you_  
_through any of that._

Ava texts back twenty minutes later.

 _It's okay. You're back_  
_now. That's what_  
_matters. You're back_  
_in her life. In our life._

Once again, it's the only thing that can calm her—the knowledge that she hasn't lost them. That, even if seeing Ava might hurt, staying in their lives will be worth it one thousand times over.

That’s what she focuses on once Laurel leaves. That’s what she focuses on as she looks at apartments, as she finds one, a tiny one-bedroom that would just about fit everything she owns—but that accepts her credit, the most important thing.

 

That’s what she focuses on over the weeks before she sees them again. She doesn’t go back to Star City until everything is finalized, until Laurel has visited the apartment to check it’s not falling apart.

She focuses on how staying in their lives is a good thing, and that makes things easier when she sees Ava again, thinking about all the things she’s keeping, and not the one thing she’s lost. When she breaks the news to Charlotte, she’s not sure she’s seen anything better. She can’t stop the smile on her face at Charlotte’s expression, at the pure happiness on her face.

Even Ava’s smile is unrestrained, without hesitation.

“I’m gonna be here a lot more, kid. That’s a promise.”

 

A month later, Laurel drives out, they pack all of Sara’s possessions into their two cars, and drive back across the country. Sara hardly has a second glance for the apartment as she leaves. There are good memories, sure, but they’re few and far between. She’s ready for a new start.

Charlotte had insisted on helping Sara move in, so, when they get to the new apartment, they’re both there, both dressed down, in casual clothes that are obviously already worn and stained. The image makes Sara’s heart flip. Charlotte’s hair is up in pigtails, and she must have gotten to Ava’s hair, because so is Ava’s.

As Sara gets out of the car, she bursts out laughing. “Trying a new hairstyle?”

“It looks ridiculous, I know, but she insisted.”

“Mom said I should put my hair up. So I said _she_ should put her hair up as well,” Charlotte interjects, before running over to Laurel, leaving them alone.

“It looks ridiculous,” Ava says, again.

Sara shrugs. “It looks kinda good.” _You always look good,_ she wants to say, but she doesn’t.

“Okay,” Ava says, rolling her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

When Sara’s moved in—Charlotte having helped with exactly two boxes before stopping, following them around for the rest of the day trying to boss them around, and then eventually falling asleep on Sara’s new bed—the three of sit around Sara’s new table. Ava pulls a bottle of champagne she’d apparently snuck into Sara’s fridge at some point, and pours it out into glasses that are very pointedly not champagne glasses, but that will do.

Laurel and Ava are looking at her, and Sara realises she’s supposed to be saying something. She coughs, not sure what to say, and the only thing she can think to say is, “To being home,” and it’s uncomfortably raw, so much so that she drinks almost all of the glass in one, hoping it will go to her head, hoping it will hide the blush she knows is there.

They drink the whole bottle, and then another one, because apparently Laurel had brought one as well. Sara is glad Laurel is there, because, at some point, Ava’s leg brushes against hers, and every nerve ending in her thigh lights on fire. If Laurel hadn’t been there, Sara isn’t certain she would’ve kept to the rule.

Especially since she’s sure there are moments where Ava looks at her with something more than friendship in her eyes. It’s easier to spot now, now that she knows what lust looks like in Ava’s eyes, easier to see how it grows more obvious as she gets drunker.

It would be easy to get Laurel to give them a minute. It would be easy to fall together, if Ava said yes, and Sara is almost sure she would. That would be easy.

What’s hard is what she does, which is to stop Ava drinking. She manoeuvres her into the bedroom, ignoring how she leans into Sara, tells her to get some sleep and settles her down next to Charlotte.

Ava sinks into the pillow, rolling over to her side, and then frowns, clearly because her hair is still in the braids Charlotte had coerced her into, and they look uncomfy to try to sleep in. She rolls back to look at Sara, her expression confused. Her fingers go to the hairbands holding the braids together, but all she’s doing is scrabbling at them ineffectively, too drunk or too tired (or both) to do anything competently.

Sara sighs, sits down next to Ava, careful not to dip the mattress too much, to disturb Charlotte, and then motions for Ava to sit up. Ava does, staring at Sara, her eyes wide, watery, still confused, and then Sara's fingers go to Ava’s hair, pulling the hairbands out, working her fingers through the braids to separate the strands. Throughout the day, her hair had matted slightly, and Sara eases the tangles out, as gently as possible.

It’s too intimate, Sara's fingers in Ava's hair, smoothing it out, but Sara doubts Ava will even remember in the morning, and so it's almost like it's not happening.

Ava is silent the whole time, just watching. When Sara's done, she falls back against the pillows.

Once Ava's tucked away, Sara leaves the room, and eventually falls asleep, once again, with Laurel, on her new sofa bed.

 

She wakes up to Ava cooking. When she sees Sara stir, she stops what she’s doing, her expression awkward. “Did I wake you?” she asks, nervous.

Sara shakes her head, and as she extricates herself from the covers, trying not to disturb Laurel, she is glad that sleeping in the same bed as her sister means she’s wearing a full set of pyjamas, shorts and everything. She crosses the room, leans up against the counter, watching Ava. Ava looks up briefly. Sara sees her eyes skate over Sara’s figure, before flicking away, back to the food. Sara wonders how much she remembers about the previous night. It almost doesn't matter. Even if she remembers anything, Sara doubts she'd say anything.

That's their unspoken rule. Don't talk about it. Keep the peace.

“I felt bad about us taking your bed,” Ava says, in explanation for what she's doing. “Thought I should cook in payment.”

Ava could take anything of Sara’s and she wouldn’t complain, but she’s not going to say no to breakfast.

“Did you sleep well?” Sara asks, pressing up on her toes to reach over to the countertop, stealing some of the vegetables Ava is chopping up. Ava looks indignant for a second, and then her expression softens into something like endearment.

Ava nods, her voice quiet. “Yeah. It’s a good mattress. Good quality. I’m sure you’ll.. like it…” She trails off, and it’s obvious her mind has gone to the same place as Sara’s has. Sara can see Ava’s fingers trembling as they chop with increased vigour, getting shakier and shakier until Sara is worried that she’s going to hurt herself.

She reaches over again, grabbing Ava’s wrist. “Hey. Stop.” Ava looks up, shocked, but the knife stills. “I think you’re hungover, Ava. Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” She’s giving Ava an out, an out to blame the tremors on something other than imagining other people in Sara’s bed. She walks around the counter, takes the knife from Ava. “Let me help.”

Ava makes a sound of protest. “I’m supposed to be making _you_ breakfast.”

Sara looks at the ingredients in front of her. “Omelette?” she guesses.

Ava nods.

“I’ll finish the chopping. There’s not much more. You can do everything else. I think it’s best if our breakfast doesn’t have blood in it,” Sara says, lightly. “Sit down. Drink some water.”

Ava follows the instructions, and Sara can feel Ava’s eyes on her as she finishes chopping the remaining vegetables. When she’s done, Ava examines them. “They’re good. Are you a secret chef? Have you been holding out on me?”

“No. Just good with a knife. Always have been.” She twirls it between her fingers, showing off a bit. Ava’s eyes follow the knife a little too intently, her eyes going a little too dark. Sara stops it, placing it carefully on the counter. “Anyway. You can do the rest. As payment,” she says, and she almost winks, but she doesn’t, stopping herself at the last second.

Ava switches places with Sara, obedient, as if following what Sara tells her what to do is easier than having to think for herself. After a second’s hesitation, she falls easily back into cooking. Sara sits down at the table, pulls out her phone, tries not to watch Ava, but it’s all too easy. Ava isn’t looking Sara’s way, isn’t noticing.

Her hair is messy and still slightly wavy from the plaits, piled up on her head. Her neck is bare, an endless expanse of smooth skin, and Sara gets an overwhelming rush of sorrow that they stopped before she could get her mouth on the skin there. For a second, she imagines getting up, saying fuck it, coming up behind Ava, and asking her if they can try.

She doesn’t. She just stares at Ava too long, long enough that Ava finally notices, looks over. “What’s on your mind?”

 _You. Always you._ “Nothing. It smells good. How long do you think it'll be?”

Ava screws up her mouth as she thinks. “Five minutes?”

“I’ll wake up the others,” Sara says, then pauses, worried momentarily that this was just supposed to be them. Her heart clenches at the thought.

Her whole body relaxes when Ava nods. “Yeah. Get them up.”

Charlotte takes a second to wake up, Sara shaking her gently. “Lottie. Baby? You gotta get up. We’re having breakfast.”

She rolls over, her eyes closed. “Gimme a second, Mom.”

Sara feels the blood freeze in her veins. She'd thought she was okay with that word, but clearly she isn't, at least not when it's Charlotte who's said it. Not yet. “No. Charlotte. It’s me. Sara.”

Charlotte finally opens her eyes, and they’re wide. “Oh. You called me baby. Only Mom calls me that.”

Sara hadn’t even realised, the word coming out without thinking. “I’m— I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”

“No,” Charlotte mumbles, closing her eyes again, hardly even seeming to be aware of Sara’s panic. “It’s fine. I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sara lets out a breath, feeling like she’s just recovered from nearly toppling over a ledge. “Okay. But you still need to get up.”

“Two more minutes.”

Sara just smiles. “Fine. But I don’t think your mom is going to be as lenient getting you up. She cooked. She’ll want you to eat some of it.”

This seems to wake her fully up, and she takes the hand Sara is offering, letting herself be pulled up into a sitting position. She wipes sleep out of her eyes, and then a guilty look passes over her face. “ _I’m_ sorry. For calling you 'Mom'. Mom said I shouldn’t, that you don’t like it.”

“Hey. No, kid, it’s fine. I mean, don’t make a habit of it. I don’t like— I don’t like feeling like I’m replacing Ava. But it’s not— you don’t have to apologize. You never have to apologize to me, Lottie. I know… I know having me around this past year has to have been… weird for you. It's okay to find it a bit weird.”

Charlotte shakes her head. “Not weird.”

“No?” Sara asks, a skeptical look on her face.

“Nope. I’m practically grown up. I can deal with things like this. Plus, I like having you here. I found you, didn't I?”

Sara just smiles, nods, her fingers going to Charlotte’s hair, smoothing it down. “Okay. Glad to know you’re dealing with it well, kid.”

The beam on Charlotte’s face is so innocent that Sara knows she’d rip her heart out before she did anything to hurt her. It makes the thought of continuing to stay away from Ava a little easier. For a second, neither of them speak, and then Charlotte looks her straight in the eye, and says, “You know, I love you.”

Sara blinks, a warm feeling spreading through her. “You do?”

Charlotte nods, as if it’s nothing. “Yeah. Mom told me if you love someone you should tell them. So I’m telling you.”

“I mean, I love you, too, kid.”

Charlotte gets up, moving towards the door. “I know. You have to. I’m your daughter.”

Sara has to laugh at that. “Yeah, I suppose. I still love you, though.” Charlotte nods, and then she’s out of the door. Sara stays where she is, sitting on the bed, for a moment.

What Charlotte said about what Ava had told her doesn’t have to mean anything. It probably _doesn’t_ mean anything.

Still, she can’t help turning, staring at the side of the bed Ava had slept in, the side of the bed Sara had deposited her in. The side of the bed that Ava had fallen into, after stumbling across the room, her hand wrapped too tightly around Sara’s waist.

The memories rush back. How Ava had pulled Sara down slightly as she fell back against the pillows. How she'd sighed, quietly, as Sara's fingers carded through her hair. How her smile, let loose by the alcohol, had been a little like the smiles that had been on her face while they were kissing. Sara blinks back tears, steels herself, and then goes to have breakfast.

It passes without problem, and then everyone leaves, and Sara is alone. She’s living closer to everyone she loves than she has in years, and she feels more alone than ever.

 

The ache of loneliness doesn't get better as the day goes on. Instead, it gets worse. Everything hurts, and so she makes a rash decision, pulling out her phone, texting a number she’d been given ‘on the off-chance you’re ever in Star City and want to have some more fun.’ He replies in half an hour.

_Moved here?  
How recently?_

Sara considers how truthful to be, and then decides to go for it, because the last time they’d slept together, he’d made it pretty clear that he didn’t care if she was damaged goods.

_Yesterday._

_And you’re already  
texting me? Love_

_You gonna help me_  
_forget things or keep_  
_being smart?_

_What sort of things?_

_You have five hours?_

_The short story?_

_You have an hour?_

_Where do you want to  
meet?_

Sara hesitates for a second, and then sends him her address. He had a slightly strange vibe back in Coast City, but she’s at least 95% sure he doesn’t actually speak to dead people, that it’s just a strange British shtick thing he’s got going on.

He arrives that evening with whiskey in hand. She’d usually never turn that down, but right now, she just needs to be kissed—and he's decent enough looking, and, more importantly, right in front of her and _willing—_ so she grabs it from him and sets it down. Before he can do anything else, before he can talk or protest, she has her arms around his neck, kissing him.

He doesn’t taste right, doesn't feel right, but she ignores that, pulling him towards the bedroom, not wasting any time. She’s got him half naked on her bed when he pulls back, speaks. “You know this is totally casual, right? It's just, you called me up a day after moving here, and I need to know you're not going to fall in love with me.”

She rolls her eyes. “God. Obviously. What do you think I’m trying to fucking forget, John? I’m not going to fucking fall in love with you. I’m already in love with someone else.”

And then he’s pulling even further away. She groans, but it doesn’t change his movements. “Nope. That’s bad fuckin’ karma there. This is just going to make you feel worse. I can help you forget anything but _that_ , love.”

Her one (two) night stand is trying to be principled, and she can’t fucking take it. “I told you I was damaged! What the fuck did you think that meant?”

“I thought, love, it meant you’d spent time in prison and had seen some bad shit as a bounty hunter.” Sara opens her mouth to protest, and he just continues. “Google exists, Sara Lance. I knew that. I didn’t think it meant you were tryin’ to forget whoever last slept in this bed.” She wonders briefly if he really is magic, and then he keeps talking. “Two dents in the pillows. You haven’t made the bed. You keep starin' at me like you’re about to kill me for sitting here. You can’t forget them just like that.”

He's assuming that Sara had slept in the bed with Ava, that Sara's the second dent, but he's not far from the truth.

Sara stands up. “I can try.”

He shakes his head, buttoning up his shirt. “Call me when you’ve moved on. Then we can do whatever you want. Not before.”

She crosses her arms. “Last time we slept together I was in love with her already.”

He shakes his head again. “Not like this, you weren’t.”

Sara watches him go, feeling worse than before. Obviously, everything had changed since then. She’d had a taste of Ava, and now she wants it all, but she can’t have that, and it’s driving her crazy.

He hadn’t taken the whiskey, so she gets blackout drunk, and when she wakes up the next morning, curled up on Ava’s side of the bed, she hardly remembers anything of what he said, only that he had left.

 

Morning her is glad. Morning her sends him one final text. Morning her can’t believe how close she got to playing out exactly what had made Ava’s hands shake: someone else in that bed.

_Okay. You were right.  
I would’ve felt bad._

_Call me once you’re  
over her._

But it’s almost as if he knows that’s not happening, because he says nothing else.

She’s never getting over Ava.

She spends the rest of day working, and, by the evening, she’s got a perp, someone easy to catch, someone she’s able to take in before midnight. She feels a little better, doing something useful. Work has dried up a little recently, mainly because she’s spent too much time worrying or pining or preparing to move.

She knows there’ll be enough work in Star City to keep her busy, though, and starting well is something.

 

Over the next couple of days, she throws herself into work, scrubbing everything else from her brain, and it helps. She hasn’t let herself focus quite so intently on it in months, and her bank account has been hurting because of it. It feels good to get back into doing something she’s truly good at, something she can’t mess up by feeling the wrong way at the wrong time towards the wrong person.

And then, a week after she moved in, she gets a text from Ava.

 _I have a question for you._  
_You can say no._  
_But I just thought I’d ask._

Her anxiousness shines through even through text. Sara can almost see her expression, see the way she knows her fingers must be fidgeting.

_Shoot_

_Charlotte has a parent_  
_teacher conference today._  
_I was wondering if you_  
_would want to come?_

Sara stares at the text, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. A second later, Ava’s typing bubble turns up again.

 _You don’t have to_  
_I just thought, you know,_  
_since you’re here now._

_No. Yeah. I’d like that_

_Yeah?_

_Yeah_  
_Just gimme a time._  
_I’ll be there_

Ava sends Sara the details, forwarding her an email from the school which describes the whole evening in excruciating detail.

That evening, Sara drives to Starling. It’s the first time she’s done it since she moved, and the twenty minute drive feels like heaven compared to the hours of driving she’d used to need. Ava is waiting at the school when she gets there, dressed in one of her pantsuits. Sara hasn’t seen her dressed up like that in a while, and she has to bite back the compliment that rises in her throat, not sure whether it’s appropriate.

She’s glad then that she ditched the leather jacket, went for the most formal looking blazer in her closet. She sees Ava’s eyes briefly sweep over her, and she apparently approves, because she doesn’t say anything.

Sara looks down. “Do they know I’m coming?”

Ava nods. “It’s just Miss Jiwe. You met her, right? It’s just her, and Mr Heywood. He runs the history club Charlotte does.”

“Okay. Okay, cool.” But as Sara stares up at the school, she feels rooted to the ground, distinctly uncool. This is a whole lot bigger than just dropping her off at school. This is— this is for _parents_ , and it’s suddenly too big. She steps away from Ava, closing her eyes, taking deep breaths.

Ava moves with her, and then her hand is on Sara’s shoulder. “Hey. Hey. Sara. It’s okay.” She pauses. “Look. You don’t have to do this if you don’t think you can.”

Sara swallows, opens her eyes, and Ava is looking at her with understanding in her eyes. “No. No. I can do this. I can do this. I _want_ to do this. This sort of thing is part of the reason why I moved. Let’s do this,” she says, moving before she can change her mind again.

 

It goes fine. It’s over almost as soon as it had begun. She listens as intently as she can, but a lot of the stuff they’re talking about she has no idea what it is, so she zones out occasionally, instead focusing on the way the History club dude is clearly flirting with Miss Jiwe. When they’re done, she asks Ava about it.

“Oh. Yeah. I think they’re sleeping together. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but they’ve got that sort of vibe,” she says, smiling almost conspiratorially. It feels good to joke like that, to see Ava truly relaxed. They’d had nothing but good things to say about Charlotte, and that’s clearly put her in a good mood. When they’re away from the school, Ava turns to Sara. “How was that? For you, I mean? It wasn’t too much?”

Sara shakes her head. “No. It was… fine. I’m fine. Maybe next time I’ll actually speak,” she says, and is surprised to find herself meaning it, both that there’ll be a next time, and that she might try to make the effort to have something to contribute.

“Next time,” Ava echoes, and then she’s smiling again. “There’s another one at Easter.”

“I’ll be there.”

Ava’s smile turns into a small frown. “I don’t want to tie you down—”

“I’ll be there,” Sara says, ending the conversation there. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ava smiling again, pressing her lips together as if not to make it too obvious.

“Okay.” Ava pauses at the door of her car. “You want dinner? It’s just leftovers, but…” she trails off.

“Yeah. Dinner sounds good.”

 

After that, Ava calls Sara for anything. It’s like a switch has flipped. Sara picks up Charlotte from school when Ava has to work late, takes Charlotte out in the city every other weekend, visits during the week for reasons that seem like thinly veiled excuses just to get Sara there. There’s no longer any sort of routine, any sort of regular visiting day of the month, because she’s there every other day, fitting into their lives with ease, like she’s always been there.

Charlotte’s friends get to know her. She reaches something that could almost be friendship with some of the people in town. Gary stops being scared of her.

She’s settling, and it feels comfortable. It feels right. More right than she thought it ever could.

The one thing that stops it from being perfect is the lingering feelings for Ava. The feelings that don’t fade, don’t go away. That no matter how hard she tries, she can’t even muster up the desire for them to go away.

She never gets further than kisses with strangers in bars, a different bar every time. She tells herself it’s because it’s a new city and she wants to try them all out, but, in reality, it’s so she never has to see anyone twice, has an excuse not to take anyone back to that bed, that bed that Ava and Charlotte had slept in before anyone else, that bringing anyone else back to would feel like sacrilege.

Winter falls, and Sara wasn’t prepared for it in the slightest. Coast City had never gotten this cold, and her collection of thin leather jackets does nothing to keep her from the cold. When she takes Charlotte out, bundled up as much as she can in layers of scarves, she comments on Sara’s shivers, the way her hands freeze up far too quickly, and, eventually, Ava stops suggesting that they go outside on their trips, presenting Sara with endless lists of indoor activities.

Apparently, it’s because Charlotte’s getting cold, but Sara knows that’s not it. She’s always wrapped up in any number of thick, expensive looking coats, and has the countenance of a child who’s used to running around outside in any weather.

The gesture is for Sara. That much is obvious. She doesn’t say anything, though because how do you thank someone for a gift they haven’t even said is for you?

Instead of saying anything, she just falls deeper, because no-one has cared for her like this since Nyssa, looked out for her like that.

All she seems to do with Ava is fall deeper. With every passing day, she falls deeper. With every glance Ava doesn’t want her to notice, she falls deeper.

She falls deeper in love, and it hurts, it hurts  _so much_ but every time Charlotte smiles at her, every time she hugs her, Sara is reminded, once again, why she’s doing this, why they’re both doing this—and it’s just about bearable.

Just about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: shameless plug please vote for my poster in the [legends poster contest](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/TXHW2TK) I'm number four - the flowchart 
> 
> We're on the home straight, guys. And keep your eyes peeled for the next update, because it should be up a little earlier than you might expect.
> 
> i really hope you liked this one. it has a special place in my heart.
> 
> i haven't been putting my social media handles in this fic bc i feel like everyone knows me but also everyone might not? anyway hit me up i'm directoravasharpe.tumblr.com and @_avasharpe on twitter! talk to me about the fic/avalance/anything


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! early update! the epilogue will be coming on sunday, because i figured that on monday everyone's gonna be too distracted with anticipation to read ;)
> 
> another pre-warning before you go into this chapter - this is the LAST ONE that is a substantial size. the epilogue is 2.5k words. this one is super super long (12k words) but the next one is not so make the most of this one!! i don't want you guys going into this thinking you have two full-length chapters waiting and then being sad when the epilogue is shorter.
> 
> i hope you enjoy it!!

Christmas, and Sara’s birthday, grow closer. Starling looks perfect in the snow, and Sara spends more and more time there, using the snow as an excuse not to drive back to the city. She leaves things at the house, at first just a toothbrush in the guest bathroom that is essentially hers now, but then it looks lonely, and over the weeks, she deposits more there. The shampoo she likes and a razor and a few bits of makeup.

She doesn’t leave clothes. She sets the boundary there, determined not to make it look like she’s moving in, because she’s not. She’s just… carving out a space for herself, and Ava’s letting her.

Sara wasn't planning on telling Ava that her birthday is coming up, but somehow it slips out, when they’re talking about Christmas one evening. Charlotte is discussing their traditions, all the little things they do that make Sara’s heart ache, and she turns to Sara, asking if she has any traditions, and before she knows it, she’s shrugging, saying, “I don’t know. Trying to make everyone remember it’s my birthday as well as Christmas?”

For a second, Ava is quiet, and then she speaks. “Your birthday is on Christmas? I always just... assumed we'd missed it, you know... early on in the year, when you weren't visiting so much."

Sara shrinks into the couch, internally swearing. She’d gone almost a year without telling them when it was. She'd _wanted_ Ava to think what she said she had. Sara always felt like a pain whenever she admitted when her birthday was, like she was drawing attention away from Christmas, trying to make herself the centre of attention, so she'd never told Ava when it was. But the day had been long, and she hadn’t been thinking, and now it’s out. “Yeah. No. You didn't miss it. But it’s fine. You don’t have to do anything more— not that you were going to _do_ anything for me for Christmas, just, you don’t have to—”

But Ava stops her, her hand out. “What do you mean, we’re not doing anything for you for Christmas?” Her face is twisted into confusion.

“I mean, I didn’t think you two would want me here. I’m just gonna be in Star City with my family. I don’t want to invade. You’ve got all your— traditions, you know?” Sara shifts, looking away from them.

“You’re not gonna be here on Christmas?” Charlotte asks, and there’s disappointment there, disappointment that Ava might be able to hide, but that Charlotte can’t.

Sara finally drags her eyes back to them. “I mean— I just assumed I wasn’t.”

Ava looks down, takes a breathe. “I think— I think Charlotte and I assumed… we assumed you would. Not for the whole day, if you want to be with your family, but… some of it?” Her face is hopeful, and for the millionth time, Sara’s heart shatters.

“You want me there?”

“Yeah, Sara, we do.” Ava looks at her, and the tension is palpable. Sara’s heart beats out of time. Ava is silent for a second, then speaks. “You’re gonna be twenty-nine, right?” Sara nods. “Just a year older than I was when I adopted this one,” she says quietly, almost absentmindedly, hugging Charlotte tight. When she speaks again, she’s speaking slowly, carefully, as if she’s thinking about every single word. “We want to be able to celebrate with you, Sara. You’re… you’re kinda a part of this family now. It would feel weird not to have you here.”

Sara smiles at them, and Ava smiles back, and that's all the courage she needs to say, “Okay. I guess I'll be here for Christmas, then.”

Charlotte beams, pulls herself out of Ava’s embrace, and collapses against Sara. Her warmth spreads over Sara’s body, and Sara hugs back, drawing Charlotte close.

“Definitely?” Charlotte asks, her eyes wide.

Sara hesitates for a split second, then answers, because, if Charlotte wants her there, if Ava wants her there, then she'll find a way to make it work. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Charlotte snuggles in closer, her head against Sara’s chest. Ava watches them, that smile still on her face, and mouths, “Thank you.”

Sara just tilts her head in recognition, wrapping her arms tighter around Charlotte.

 

After that, Sara talks to her family, and, with a little persuasion from Laurel, they agree to relinquish her after Christmas lunch. She’s aware that it’s her first Christmas back with them, that it would be unfair to leave them for the whole day like a tiny part of her wants to, and half and half seems like a fair compromise.

But it also means she suddenly has to think of gifts, still has to think of them even after Ava takes her aside, says she doesn’t want anything. Charlotte is easy. She just takes her out, buys her far too many of the things she points to in the shops they visit, blowing too much of her paycheck on toys that are far more advanced than anything Sara had ever owned, but that Charlotte seems excited by the prospect of.

She’s stuck on Ava, though. They still don’t have an exact grip on what their relationship is. Everything Sara thinks of seems too intense.

She sits down with Charlotte, one evening, while Ava is cooking. Sometimes Sara helps, but mostly she just causes trouble if she tries, so she’s usually relegated to the living room. She does the dishes afterwards. It works pretty well, as compromises go.

“What should I get your mom for Christmas, kid? What do you think she’d want?”

Charlotte screws up her mouth, considering for a second. “I think she’d like a picture of us.”

“Us?” Sara asks, her voice hesitant. “You mean… you and her… or all three of us?”

“All three of us. I think she’d like that. You’re here so much and there aren’t any photos of you. There are so many of us two. I think she’d like one of all of us.”

Sara worries at her lip, doubtful. “Really? You really think she wants a photo of me?”

“Mhmm,” Charlotte says, her voice firm. “I think she would. You should definitely do that.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. One hundred percent.”

Sara sighs, because Charlotte doesn’t seem like she’s going to budge on that. “Okay, kid. Let me know if you think of anything else. I’ll figure out how to get a photo of all of us without her twigging.”

 

She gets around it by saying her parents want a nice photo of all of them. Charlotte is, after all, their granddaughter, at least by birth, so the lie checks out. They still haven’t met her, not yet, because it doesn’t feel right, but Sara does at least send them the photo after, even if they weren’t the main reason they took it.

It’s a good photo. Ava set up a camera on the mantelpiece, put it on a timer. Charlotte sat in between them. They’re all smiling. It looks like a Christmas card photo. They look like a family. It hurts, a little.

But it’s still a nice photo. Such a nice photo that, for a second, Sara is worried Ava’s just going to print it out for herself, if Charlotte is right, and she wants a photo of them so badly, but she doesn’t. She just calmly removes the memory card from the camera, emails the photo to Sara, and doesn’t speak about it again, except to check if her parents got it, if they liked it.

Sara supposes it’s another attempt not to push at their boundaries, Ava not wanting to ask for permission to put it up, not wanting to admit that she might _want_ to put it up.

She hopes she’s not misreading the whole situation, that Ava is so calm about it because she doesn’t want anything to do with a photo of the three of them.

Still, Sara feels like she needs something else. Eventually, after agonising for a whole week, Sara finds another gift. Something tiny, maybe a little cheesy, but still, she hopes, at least a little thoughtful.

 

A month before Christmas, Ava takes her aside, and it’s obvious that the photo is still playing on her mind, even if she’s not talking about it, because she’s got a worried look on her face. “Our Christmas card. It’s always just me and her. I feel weird leaving you out but… hardly anyone who’s going to get one of these even knows who you are.”

She’s nervous, obviously feeling guilty, fiddling at her sleeves. Sara smiles, a reassuring hand reaching out to Ava’s arm before she can stop herself. “Hey. No. Ava. It’s okay. Obviously I’m not going to be on the card. We’re… us three... we’re _something_ , now, I guess, but I don’t think we’re at Sara-on-the-Christmas-card level, you know? Don’t worry. Send the card like normal. It’s okay.”

“It is?” Ava asks, still tentative.

“Yeah. Obviously, Ava. It’s okay.”

Ava sighs in relief, and, with Sara’s hand on her arm, Sara can literally _feel_ the tension leaving her body. “Okay.”

A week later, a Christmas card arrives at Sara’s apartment. Ava and Charlotte beam out of the front of it. Inside, Ava’s swirling handwriting wishes Sara a Happy Christmas. She smiles at it, and then sets it in her living room, next to the framed photo of the three of them that she still hasn’t wrapped because, somehow, looking at it makes her happy, not sad.

 

Before long, Christmas rolls around. Her morning with her family goes smoothly, obviously everyone trying to be civil and avoid any of the arguments that had used to pop up when Sara was younger. As she packs herself up, an hour after lunch, Laurel comes to talk to her. “You’ve got this, Sara. Try to enjoy yourself. Try not to dwell too much on… other things.”

Laurel is the only person who Sara talks about Ava to, the only person who knows how deep Sara is, how far away the light at the end of the tunnel seems.

“Yeah,” Sara nods. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

When she gets there, they’re both too happy to see her. Ava’s wearing some sort of terrible Christmas sweater. Her hair is loose. There isn’t a hint of makeup on her face, and she looks beautiful.

She always looks beautiful.

After a couple of hours of Sara joining in with whatever games and traditions they want to involve her in—which seems like most of them—a smile on her face the whole time, they exchange gifts. Charlotte’s go out first, piling them in front of her.

Maybe there are too many, especially on Sara’s behalf, but it’s her first one, and she feels like she’s allowed to spoil the kid, just once. When she’s done, she’s turns back to Ava and Sara, expectant, and for a second, Sara thinks she wants more, and then she’s nudging Ava. “Do you have it?”

Ava nods, pulls a box out from under the tree, hands it to Charlotte. She nods at it, looking at Sara. “This is from both of us, but mostly— mostly Charlotte. It was her idea. It wasn’t— it wasn’t my idea,” she says, and Charlotte’s so excited that she doesn’t notice the tinge of worry in Ava’s voice.

Sara shakes it, gamely, and Charlotte leans forward, excitement still spilling out of her.

She opens the wrapping, opens the box inside, and there, inside, is a ring. A plain band, but, inside, there’s something.

“Charlotte saw that you wear, you know, a lot of rings. She wanted to get you one to remind you of— us. So there’s initials in there. Yours and hers and…” Ava trails off, but she doesn’t need to say anymore, because Sara can see the A. “I suggested to her that she might just want, you know, yours and hers, because I’m not— I’m not—” Ava stops herself again, shaking her head. “Anyway, she insisted. That it was all of ours.”

Sara looks down at the ring.The initials are intertwined together, Charlotte in the middle. Sara thinks briefly about the things Charlotte had suggested they buy each other, at the personal nature of both of them, at how, for both of them, she’d insisted it was _all three of them_ , and sighs, internally, wondering, for a second, if maybe sometimes she still thinks the way she did on that first drive back home. If she still hopes they might get together.

Sara hopes not. She doesn’t want to have to break her heart if she ever voices that desire again.

She stares at it, then back up at Ava, and Ava’s eyes are apologetic. She can almost see Ava pleading with her, pleading with her to like it, and almost feels offended, because she’d never do anything less than love anything either of them gave to her. She slips it out, pulls off one of the rings that has less meaning to her, a band that she can’t even remember where she got, and replaces it. “I love it. Really.”

Charlotte is beaming. “Now you’ve always got us. And we’ve always got you. You’re stuck.”

As she hugs Sara, Sara can’t help but wonder when it was exactly that she got stuck. Months and months ago, she’d known she was stuck forever, but she isn’t sure exactly what did it. If it was something Ava did or Charlotte, or both of them.

It almost doesn’t matter anymore. All that really matters is that they have well and truly weaved their way into her heart, and the thought of losing them makes her heart hurt more than anything. She doesn’t need a ring to tell her that she’s never going anywhere, but it’s still a nice gesture.

Now that her gift has been given, Charlotte loses interest quickly, going to her own presents. Sara doesn’t mind. She watches fondly as she tears at packaging, and then eventually turns back to Ava, to see her watching Sara the same way Sara was watching Charlotte.

Sara reaches into her bag. “Do I give my gifts now?”

Ava shakes her head. “I’ve got… a few more.”

“A few? Ava. I only got you two things.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t supposed to get me anything,” Ava counters. “I told you not to. Charlotte gave me some stuff this morning. That’s enough.”

Sara shrugs. “It’s just… two small small things. I didn’t know what to get you.”

“Okay,” Ava says. “I’ll give you mine first.”

The package that Ava hands her is squishy. When she rips it open, a pile of grey wool falls into her lap. A coat. An actual warm one. It feels expensive, like—she closes her eyes briefly at the memory—like Ava’s coat had. She looks up at Ava. “This is too much.”

Ava shakes her head. “You needed one. And it’s— it’s a birthday _and_ Christmas present, so…” She doesn’t look like she’s going to let Sara reject it, so Sara just ducks her head, folds it up carefully, and thanks Ava.

Then she frowns. “The other thing better be smaller.”

Ava screws up her mouth. “Not… really. It’s kinda… bigger.”

Sara looks around. There isn’t anything left in the room. She narrows her eyes. “How big?”

“Big enough that it’ll need to be delivered?” Ava suggests.

“Ava! What the hell did you get me?”

Ava pauses for a second. “A coffee machine. Like ours.”

“The fancy one?” Sara gapes. Sure, she’s grown attached to the fancy coffee at Ava’s, but she doesn’t need her own.

“Yeah.” Ava looks down, then back up. “In my defence, I have an excuse.”

Sara raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m gonna need to be in Star City more. I might have to… stay at yours quite a bit. I need good quality coffee in the morning, and like, no offence Sara, but your machine is terrible.” She says it quickly, rushing the words out, as if that will mean Sara doesn’t notice the way she’s invited herself over, apparently for a regular thing.

“How often?” Sara asks, zoning in on exactly what she’s sure Ava wants to skip over.

Ava’s hands twist in her lap. “I’m not sure. It’s a new community outreach thing. Maybe once a month.”

Once a month. She can do that.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll accept your fancy coffee machine, as long as you use it enough to make it a partly selfish gift.”

Ava smiles a small smile, looking away again. After that, Sara gives her her gifts.

When she opens the photo, for a second, Ava is genuinely speechless. And then a soft, “Oh,” falls from her lips. “It wasn’t for your parents?”

Sara shrugs.

Ava looks at it, at them, frozen in time. Her fingers trace lightly over the frame. “I wanted to frame it. I didn’t because I was…” she lowers her voice. “I was worried you wouldn’t want that.”

“I know,” Sara says. “I know. I figured. But now you have it, so…” she trails off. There isn’t much more to say.

“Now I have it,” Ava agrees, and there’s a moment of mutual understanding there.

They’re silent for a second, and then Charlotte interrupts them, calling out from across the room. “Mom. Sara. Smile!”

Sara looks up, smiles, on automatic. Next to her, Ava does too. There’s a flash, and then a polaroid is being spat out the bottom of a camera. Charlotte looks at it, beams, and then runs over to show them. “Look!”

It’s a nice photo. They’re both relaxed, both genuinely smiling, because they’re smiling at Charlotte, not thinking about each other. It makes Sara’s heart ache. Ava takes it, looks at it, briefly. “That’s a good photo, baby. You like the camera?”

Charlotte nods, taking back the photo, running back across the room, snapping more photos. They watch her for a minute, and then Sara looks down at the second present in her lap.

It’s nothing, compared to the things she’s been given, but when Ava opens it, there’s a genuine smile on her face. “You got it personalized?” It’s a pen, a fancy one, monogrammed and everything. It seems like the sort of thing Ava should definitely have, but, that, according to Charlotte, she doesn’t.

Ava seems to genuinely like it, and she leans across the couch, pulling Sara into a brief hug. “Thank you. For both of the presents. I love them.”

“I think, after all the size of the things you’ve given me, that’s my line,” Sara says, and they both freeze, memories filling their heads. Ava pulls back.

 

Later, Charlotte has gone to sleep. The lights are low, and they’re both slightly drunk. Sara can’t help sneaking glances at Ava, at the way she gets softer as the alcohol sets in, as if someone is taking an eraser to her sharp edges, smoothing away the worry lines on her face. And then Ava’s getting up, setting her glass down, and moving away, without warning.

Sara wants to tell her to stop, to come back, to come back to Sara—because if being near her hurts, watching her walk away hurts even _more—_ but she doesn’t. After a moment, though, Ava returns, and when she sits down, it’s cross-legged on the couch, folding her legs under herself, facing Sara explicitly.

“I have one more thing for you,” she says, her face serious.

“Ava…” Sara says. She’s already been given too much. “I can’t accept anything else.”

“You can accept this,” Ava says, her voice firm. She nods at Sara’s hand. “It’s just a small thing. Didn’t even cost anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. No money. Promise.”

“Okay.” Sara holds her hand out, slightly reluctant, and Ava drops a USB drive into her palm. Sara frowns at it. “I’ve already got quite a few of these, Ava,” she says, her voice teasing.

Ava shakes her head at the tone of Sara’s voice, but there’s a smile on her face. She likes that. She’s always liked that. “No. It’s what’s on it.”

“And what’s that?”

“Charlotte’s entire childhood. Photos, paintings, cards, postcards, report cards, drawings, poems. Everything. Organized by age and then subject matter.”

“Oh.” It’s like the air has been sucked out of her lungs. She wasn’t expecting that. Without knowing it, she’d kinda accepted that most of Charlotte’s childhood would be a mystery. That she was never going to be able to be told everything. She looks at the tiny rectangle in her hand. “Oh. Fuck. Ava. Thank you.”

It somehow blows everything she’s ever been given out of the water. Only the ring even comes close, tightening on her finger.

“I always kept a record of things. For me, but also, because, you know, I figured her birth parents might eventually… come into her life. I mean... I didn’t think— I didn’t think it would be like this, but…”

Ava wants Sara to think she means how Charlotte had found her, but Sara sees through it, sees the way she glances over Sara’s body, the way her gaze is flicking over Sara’s face. She means she didn’t think she’d ever end up _here_ , inches and miles apart from the woman who gave birth to her daughter, wanting to close the gap.

Because, Sara knows she wants to. Knows they both still want to.

And then Ava does. She leans forward, pressing up on her knee—

Her fingers thread through Sara’s hair, her thumb rubs gently against Sara’s temple—and then her lips brush against Sara’s skin, on the spot she’d just touched. “Happy Christmas, Sara. Happy Birthday,” she murmurs, her lips still inches from Sara’s skin.

And then she’s gone.

Sara sits there, frozen, for what seems like hours, until her phone beeps. It’s nothing, just a notification for some app, but it drags her out of her reverie. The USB stick is still in her hand, and she knows she’s not going to be able to sleep, so she goes into Ava’s office, logs into the Sara account, because Ava had made one for her months ago, and scrolls through every photo from Charlotte’s first year, her head spinning.

Before she knows it, it’s four am, and she’s only just made it to Charlotte’s first birthday.

Her forehead still burns.

She wants to go upstairs, to knock on Ava’s door and ask for more.

She doesn’t.

She goes to her own room, and finally falls asleep some time around six. She gets a couple of hours of restless sleep, Ava in every single dream she has.

 

She is woken up by Charlotte coming into her room, pulling the blinds open. Sara blinks at the sudden assault of light.

“We go for a walk on the day after Christmas. You coming?”

Sara nods, blearily, forcing herself up, agreeing without even thinking about it.

She downs coffee in the kitchen. Ava watches her, worried. “Did you not sleep well?”

“No. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

An hour later, they leave. Sara puts on the new coat, and lets Ava lead her outside. “It’s just a short drive,” Ava says, gesturing to the passenger side for Sara to get in. “No point taking two cars.”

Sara settles in, Charlotte in the back playing with something new. The drive is, as Ava says, short. When they’re done, they’ve driven away from the city, to the forests near to Starling. Charlotte runs ahead. “It’s the same route every year. She knows where to go.”

“How did you start this?”

Ava looks ahead, shoves her hands in her pockets. “The first Christmas I had her, I spent with my parents. They were just… suffocating. They didn’t approve of my decision to adopt her. Wanted me to wait for the _real thing_. Didn’t seem to get that it was never going to be real thing in the way they were hoping for. The next day, I got out of there early in the morning. Drove until I found somewhere to walk, clear my head. I’ve done it ever since. Just her and me.”

_And now,_ Sara thinks, _and me_.

It’s like Ava can read her thoughts. “And you, now. I’ve never even— I’ve never even told my parents where we go. They stopped coming after a couple of years, but even when they did visit, I didn’t tell them where I was taking her.”

“You didn’t have to bring me.”

Ava stops, her hand on Sara’s arm, turning to face her. Her eyes are wide, earnest. “You keep saying things like that. Like it’s a chore to bring you, to include you. We both want you here, Sara.”

Sara shakes her head. “No. I just. I always worry it might hurt.”

Ava blinks. She looks down, steeling herself. “Being around you is never going to hurt me, Sara,” she says, and then she’s walking on, leaving Sara with the imprint of her hand on the sleeve of the expensive coat she’d just bought Sara.

The walk ends up at the top of the hill. When Ava and Sara reach it, Charlotte’s been there fifteen minutes, has tired herself out running around, and collapses against them when they join her.

On the way back down, they walk with her, each holding one of her hands. Like the last time they’d walked like this, Sara almost feels like she can feel Ava through Charlotte, through _their_ child.

Charlotte dozes on the way back, and Sara can’t help but turn around on occasion, watching her fondly.

And, again, Ava is watching her, that same smile on her face. “I knew you’d love her. I knew that first day. You just had to get to know her.”

Sara looks out of the front window. “I never disliked her. I was just—”

“Scared. You were just scared,” Ava finishes. “Understandably.”

Sara is still scared, just of a different person, for a different reason. Scared of how big her feelings her, scared of ruining everything they’ve developed. She just nods. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“I’m still glad you decided to stay,” Ava says. She pauses for a second, and when she speaks, her voice is a whisper, hardly even audible. “Even after everything. I’m still glad.”

Sara blinks, at the bald admission that anything had happened. They’d avoided that successfully until now. All she can think to say is, “Yeah. Me too.”

They’re silent the rest of the way back. When they get back to the house, Sara gathers up the stuff she’d been given, and leaves, back to the real world, because that’s what being with them feels like: a dream, hazy, not quite real.

Maybe it’s easier to separate Ava from reality, from anything Sara could have.

 

She doesn’t spend New Year’s with them. She doesn’t want to get kissed on the forehead again. She wants to kiss Ava again properly, to feel Ava kiss her back.

She wants it so badly that it consumes her, and she doesn’t visit for a week, telling Ava via text that she’s sick, that she’s too sick even to talk, because Sara knows that if she hear’s Ava’s voice, she’s going to cave.

The coffee machine is delivered at the end of that week. The delivery guy comments on it, and she sees him comparing the size of it to the size of the rest of her apartment. “It was a Christmas gift.”

He nods, looking impressed. “They must really love you. Expensive piece of kit.”

She can’t say anything, can’t do anything except nod, and when he’s gone, she collapses in the kitchen, staring at the shiny metal, her mind spinning. She calls Laurel, and they talk for hours, her sister’s voice more calming and soothing than anything. It's nice to have an outside perspective.

 

She thinks about her conversation with Laurel for a week straight, going over every word Laurel had said, and, at the end of it, everything feels like it has shifted. She admits to herself that things aren't working. She admits to herself that something needs to change.

She thinks through the consequences, and realises that nothing would be as bad as sticking to the status quo they have set. She makes a conscious change to stop thinking of Ava as unattainable, to let herself think about what they could be—and then she makes a decision. Sets herself on a course.

 

Sara goes to Starling for Charlotte’s first day back at school. In the back of her mind, a date lingers. It’s not yet. Not quite yet. Ava had taken the day off to see Charlotte properly back, and she and Sara return to the house together. Ava looks slightly shaken. “She’s going to be eleven soon. I don’t know what to do with an eleven-year-old. I hardly know what to do with a ten-year-old.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Sara says, then hesitates slightly before saying, “We’ll figure it out. Promise. We got this. You know that, right? I’m here. We do this together.”

“Yeah.” Ava closes her eyes. “Yeah. I— I know.”

“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

 

The day rolls around. It’s been a year since Charlotte turned up at her doorstep. It feels like it’s been ten years, a thousand, a million pining after Ava. She has no idea if Ava will remember the date, but it doesn’t matter. It means something to Sara, it means _everything_ to Sara, and that’s why she spends the morning psyching herself up, the afternoon hovering in Starling and then, when she’s sure Ava will be back from work, when the evening has started to draw in, she knocks.

She has a key. She’s had a key for a year, but she knocks.

Ava opens the door, confusion clouding her face. “Sara. Why did you— why are you— why are you here? Charlotte— Charlotte’s not here.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s on a trip. She sent me a photo.”

Ava frowns. “She’s not supposed to have her phone on her.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of the kids listen to those rules,” Sara says, not taking her eyes off Ava. Finally not dodging her gaze. Ava seems to notice, dragging her gaze away, looking at her feet.

“Why are you here, Sara?” Ava asks again, quieter.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes. I mean, obviously. Why did you even ask? You have a key.”

Sara shrugs. “It seemed like the polite thing to do. Considering what I came here for.”

“Which is what?” Ava asks, looking up as Sara shuts the door behind them, as she steps closer. Ava’s eyes are racing over every inch of Sara’s face, and she takes half a step back, away from Sara, and it hurts a little. “Sara. Why are you here?” she asks, for the third time, her voice nearing on desperation.

Sara just smiles, takes another step forward, towards Ava. She sighs, her heart beating so fast Ava can surely hear it. “To do this,” she says, still moving forward. Ava’s eyes widen, and it looks like she’s about to say something, but then Sara steps even closer, close enough to get her hands around Ava’s neck—and kisses her. For a moment, Ava’s lips are hard, unresponsive, and then they soften, yielding.

She doesn’t taste sweet this time. She just tastes like Ava. Her lips move against Sara’s, and she feels perfect.

Sara wants to press in, to go further, but she’s determined to do this delicately, so she pulls back after a couple of seconds, her fingers stroking over Ava’s cheeks. Ava, whose eyes are closed, whose lips fall open in shock, her eyebrows raising. The same expression of shock as the first time they'd kissed, but now Sara knows it's not one of displeasure, just... pain. She wants to make Ava's pain go away, wants to kiss her until she forgets everything that's ever hurt her.

Ava is silent for twenty seconds, Sara's fingers still gently moving on her skin, and then swallows, clearly pysching herself up, opens her eyes, speaks. “What are you _doing_ , Sara?”

“Kissing you. I thought that was obvious,” she says, a smirk on her face, a smirk she’s been resolutely hiding for months.

“God, I know _that_ , but _why_? We said we— we said we wouldn’t.”

But she’s not moving away from Sara’s embrace, not trying to get Sara to remove her fingers from where they rest on her cheeks, still moving slightly, and that has to mean something.

“Because I’m in love with you, Ava. I have been for months. I have been practically since the day I met you. And I’m pretty sure you’re in love with me, too.”

“I—” Ava closes her eyes again, her face twisting in pain,

Sara just shushes her. “Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. Not yet.” She pauses, leaning in closer for a second, and then Ava’s hands go to her waist, almost as if she isn’t even thinking about it, just holding Sara tight on automatic. Sara takes a breath, speaking again. “I know we said we wouldn’t. I know I stopped us, last time. But we’re fucking miserable, Ava. I can’t even look at anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. We thought we’d hurt her if we tried anything, but it’s going to hurt her more once she’s old enough to realise that we’re holding back because of her. I can’t hold back anymore, Ava. It’s too painful. All I want is you. Please. Just let us try.”

Ava’s eyes are still shut. When she opens them, her eyes are watery. “I don’t— We _can’t_.”

Sara shakes her head, moves a thumb to wipe at the tears threatening to spill over. Ava gasps at the feeling, and Sara smiles. “We can. I’m invested in her. I _always_ have been. Ever since she turned up at my door. I’m not going to let her get hurt. I promise. I’m not going to let her get hurt. I was scared, before. I was terrified to ruin things, if things went wrong between us. But I love you, and I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not going to let things go wrong. I’m not going to let her get hurt. I would _never_ let her get hurt, not in a million years”

“Sara…”

“I love her, Ava. And I love you. So much. I love you both so much more than I thought I could ever love anyone. I thought I couldn’t feel like this anymore. I haven’t felt like this in years. But then I met you two and I… I didn’t stand a chance. With either of you. You both got under my skin. I held back admitting how I felt about you for _so_ long, but I can’t anymore. I can’t. I love you.”

“Sara, I don’t—”

“I love you, Ava,” Sara repeats. “I love you. I don’t want to pretend to be happy like this anymore. I can’t do it. It’s not fair on any of us. I love you.”

“God. I— Fuck. You love me?” Ava asks, her tone disbelieving, like the half dozen times Sara’s already said it isn’t enough.

“I love you,” Sara confirms. She'd say it a million times if that's what it took to convince Ava she means it. “I’m _in_ love with you,” she adds, just for extra confirmation, because this isn’t just love. This isn’t like how she feels about Charlotte, how she feels about Laurel, how she feels about her parents. This is something different.

Something deep and terrifying and wonderful.

Ava sniffs, her eyes searching Sara’s face again, and then her hands are on Sara’s cheeks, pressing Sara in closer, until their faces are inches apart. “You love me?” she repeats, almost to herself, hardly more than a breath.

Sara just nods. They’re too close for her to think about talking anymore. And then one of Ava’s hands slides down, curls around her neck, pulling her in.

And Ava's kissing her, kissing her like this is the first time, like it’s the last time, like they’ve been kissing for years and she knows exactly what Sara wants. Kissing her like she’s drowning and Sara has air. Not being delicate at all, not caring about being careful. Just kissing with all she has, and it’s everything. Her mouth is intense, desperate, needy, like she’s letting loose.

Even last time, Ava hadn’t kissed quite like _this_.

It’s the confirmation Sara needs. She doesn’t even need to hear the words. Or, at least, she doesn’t think she needs them, and then Ava pulls away half an inch, so that their lips are still almost touching, and murmurs, “God. I love you, too,” and, Sara's heart stops, because, okay, she wanted that. Wanted to hear that, hear Ava say the words back, wanted to know for sure.

She pulls back further. A lazy smile spreads on her face, and, at the same time, warmth spreads through all of her, starting at her lips, at the skin Ava had touched, and warming every part of her. She just needs to check, though. Ava had said it so quietly that Sara's almost worried she heard wrong. “What was that?” she asks.

Ava takes a breathe, tucks a piece of hair behind Sara’s ear, the gesture impossibly fond. “Fuck, Sara. I love you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ava closes her eyes, shaking her head. “Fuck. God. You're right. We shouldn’t have tried to— we shouldn’t have done what we did. We shouldn't have held back. It hasn’t been good for either of us. For any of us. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you. Wow. I'm in love with you.” There’s a smile on her face as she says it, like letting those words out is the best feeling ever.

Sara looks up at Ava. “You know what I think would be good for both of us?” she asks.

Ava raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“If you kissed me again.”

So, smiling, Ava does, and it’s slower again this time, Ava pressing in, but not aggressively, just carefully, with purpose, her hands turning Sara’s every molecule into putty. She feels like she’s floating. Ava is teasing her mouth open, both hands on Sara’s face again, holding her in place. Her fingers tremble slightly against Sara’s skin.

This time, Ava is being careful, being delicate. But, despite the softness, all Ava is doing is making Sara feel like she needs to get her in a bed right this second, almost even more than Ava's first, desperate kiss. The longer Ava kisses her, the closer she presses into Sara’s body, the more need continues to rise up in Sara's stomach, and, eventually, it’s too much, and she pushes Ava away, gently. Ava almost looks disappointed, and Sara leans in, kissing her quickly, feeling a smile rise on Ava’s lips against her own, then pulls back again. “Fucking hell. I can’t wait any longer, Ava.” Her voice is a little hoarse, a little lower than usual. Rough with desire.

“For?”

Sara can’t tell if Ava’s being purposely obtuse, or if she’s actually oblivious. “I need you. I _need_ you,” she repeats, her hands trailing pointedly down Ava’s body. She presses up on her toes slightly, until her mouth is level with Ava’s ear. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we— since last time. I need you, Ava. I want you so much.”

She lowers herself down, carefully, gauging Ava’s reaction. Last time, they’d jumped straight into it, no hesitation, neither of them thinking, neither of them even taking a second to consider. This time… this time it seems best if they talk it through.

Or, at least, if Ava talks it through, because Sara’s finally allowed to get her mouth on Ava’s neck, and so she moves her lips down, presses a kiss to Ava’s skin, feels her blood pumping underneath her lips, feels Ava’s breath catch in her throat.

But Ava isn’t saying anything, so Sara tears her mouth away, looks Ava in the eye, seeing hesitation there. “Ava?”

“You want me?”

“I wanted you before. Nothing’s changed. I want you more. I need you more. Ava, please.” Ava blinks, and Sara puts her hand back to her face, sweeping her fingers over the skin there, smiling up at her. “It’s okay, Ava. You don’t have to hold back anymore.”

Ava’s breath hitches again, a soft sound escaping from her throat, and then it’s like she crumbles, all of the fight going out of her. “I don’t have to hold back anymore,” she repeats, slowly, almost wondering. A smile breaks on her face, finally wide, unrestrained. Ava finally letting go. “Shit, Sara, I want—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, instead tips Sara’s chin up with her finger, kissing her again. Sara presses in, hungry. “I want you,” Ava finishes, mumbling it against Sara’s lips.

“You’ve got me. You’ve had me practically since we first met.”

Ava’s eyes darken, and she groans and kisses her again, pushing the coat off Sara’s shoulders, catching it before it hits the floor, and looping it over the bannisters without even breaking away. When she does, finally, pull back, she’s looking at Sara with so much softness in her eyes that Sara doesn’t know what to do with it. “You wanna go upstairs?”

Sara nods. “God, yes. Please.”

“Okay.” Ava smiles—and then takes Sara’s hand, slotting their fingers together. Sara has to hold in a gasp at the feeling. Ava pulls her upwards, that same smile on her face, although, as they get higher, it’s tinged with something else. Something that looks a little like lust.

At the top of the stairs, Ava opens the door to her bedroom, walking through, and Sara goes to follow, then hesitates. In the year she’s known Ava, she’s never been in here.

Not once.

There's never been any reason to. She's been everywhere else. But not here.

She hovers, leaning in the doorway. Her feet hit the frame, and she realises she’s still wearing shoes. She kicks those off, although slightly loathe to lose the extra inch they give her against Ava.

Ava, who turns when she realises Sara isn’t still behind her, her tongue running over her lips.

“I’ve never been in here,” Sara says, in explanation.

“No,” Ava says, softly. “I guess you haven’t.”

“It feels weird,” Sara admits. She runs her toe over the line in the carpet. “Still feels like I’m invading.”

Ava moves back towards her, runs her hands down Sara’s arms, bringing up goosebumps. Now that the coat is gone, there’s only a thin layer of fabric between Ava’s hands and Sara’s skin, and it’s intoxicating. “Hey. You’re not invading. You've _never_ been invading. We've always wanted you. _I've_ always wanted you. And I want you here, now. I _want_ you.”

And Sara knows that. Knows that she wants Ava back, so much that it aches, but she still can’t shake the feeling that she’s the outsider, that she doesn’t belong. She can’t make herself step over the threshold, no matter how much she wants it. Suddenly, she's frozen, feeling worse and worse as the seconds tick on, relentless.

Now the thought’s in her head, she can't control it. It’s taking over every single synapse in her mind, every single part of her brain, consuming her.

She gasps, struggling for breath, all of her resolve falling away, at an insecurity she didn't even know she had, an insecurity revealing itself at the _worst_ possible time.

“I— God, I can’t, Ava. I’m always going to be— I missed nine years of her life. I’m always going to be behind, I’m never going to be enough.” Tears are rising in her throat, pricking at her eyelids, and all of her resolve disappears. She just wants to run away, and she hates it. She’d had so much bravery when she’d kissed Ava, had felt so _good_ when Ava kissed her back, and all of that is gone in an instant, replaced with insecurities that feel like they’re eating her away from the inside.

And then Ava’s pressing up against her, pressing her back against the frame, tipping her head back, kissing her, kissing her even as gasping sobs fall out of her mouth. “You’re enough, Sara,” Ava says against her mouth. “Listen to me. Please. You're enough. You've always been enough. You can’t stop here. You came all this way. You started this. Forced me to admit how I feel. So you can’t stop here. Please, Sara.” She wipes carefully at Sara’s tears with her thumb, mirroring Sara’s movements from just minutes before, then pulls away, holding Sara’s hand until she’s too far and has to drop it.

She stands in the middle of the room, looking at Sara.

“I can’t—” Sara wants this so badly, but she’s frozen. The tears dry up, but she still can’t move.

“Sara, come here.” Ava’s voice is firm, but still gentle.

“I can’t,” Sara repeats. The line on ground seems unpassable.

And then Ava pulls off her sweater, unzips her jeans, sliding them down her legs. She raises an eyebrow in Sara’s direction, then pulls the t-shirt she was wearing over her head, dropping it to join her clothes in their pile on the floor.

She looks even more perfect than Sara had remembered.

“Come on, Sara.”

Sara still can’t move. “A different room. My room. I can’t— I can’t do it in here.”

“Yes, you can.” Ava pauses. “Do you _want_ to?”

Sara wants nothing more. She wants to lay Ava down on that bed until she falls apart. She wants to wake up there, if Ava will have her. She wants to spend every night of the rest of her life there. She doesn’t ever want to go back to her own apartment. All of that is impossible to voice, though, so she just nods, her throat dry.

“Okay. Good. Then you can do this.” Ava pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is raw. “I love you, Sara. Isn’t that enough?”

“I—”

“I love you,” Ava repeats. “I love you.” The tables have turned. It’s Ava repeating it like an incantation, trying to get Sara away from the door. She’s strong enough just to pull her, but Sara knows Ava wouldn’t do that. She wants Sara to come on her own. “I love you, Sara, and I went so long pretending I didn’t, and I _need_ you, now.”

It’s the break in her voice that finally does it, her voice cracking on ‘need’. She looks vulnerable, standing there in her underwear, and Sara can’t take it.

She finally snaps herself out of it, giving in to Ava's voice and the knowledge she'll be there to catch her. She pushes herself away from the doorframe, crosses the floor in a couple of steps, falls against Ava, pressing up against her, looping her arms around her neck. Ava’s fingers splay on the nape of Sara’s neck, tilting her head so that their mouths can meet again. Ava’s other hand tangles in Sara’s hair, and, when she pulls back, there’s a blissful smile on her face. “Yeah. Like that. I knew you could do it.” Sara moves her hands down Ava’s back, finds the bra clasp, and is toying with it when Ava stops her, shaking her head, a half smile on her face. “You gotta catch up, first.”

So Sara does. The rest of her clothes are gone in an instant, down to her underwear in moments, and then Ava doesn't stop her when she goes back for the clasp, when she pulls it away from Ava’s shoulders.

When she pushes Ava down onto the bed, in her lap for the second time, her mouth is hard, her hands skimming over every bit of skin she can access.

Ava's fingers trace over the scar on her stomach, and then move to Sara’s bra. She moves her arms away from Ava's shoulders for a second to let it slip to the floor, and then, when it's gone, she moves her hands to find Ava’s shoulders, gripping down tight, rising up in Ava’s lap, making her work for it, until they overbalance, and Ava falls backwards, Sara with her.

Ava laughs, and Sara wants to hear that forever, wants to work on making Ava laugh like that for every minute of the rest of her life. But Ava makes a sound—a desperate, needy sound—when Sara’s hand reaches below the line of her underwear for just a first, exploratory touch, and it rings in her ears, and all she can think about is replicating _that_.

She kisses Ava deeper, working her fingers lower, only breaking away when Ava motions for them to move back, get more settled. At that, Sara sits back, looking at Ava. She's smiling. Her cheeks are red, her lips equally so.

She's breathtaking. Sara just drinks it all in, weaves her fingers over Ava’s stomach, just watching and enjoying and wondering how she got here. “What do you want? I don't know— I don't know anything about what you like.”

And it's true. It's one of the only aspects of Ava that Sara knows nothing about, and she's suddenly self-conscious.

“I want _you_ ,” Ava breathes.

Sara can't help the smile on her face, can't help leaning down, kissing her again, splaying her hand out over Ava's stomach as she does, pressing down just hard enough to elicit a hiss from Ava's mouth. “I know," Sara whispers. "But how, Ava? I want to make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.”

“Anything—” Ava says, and Sara shakes her head, slapping a hand over Ava’s mouth. Ava's eyes go wide, slightly indignant at the sensation.

“Come on, Ava, you gotta have a preference. Tell me what you want.” She moves her hand away, and Ava's eyes close. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Sara leans down again, kissing down her jaw, her neck, her collarbones. “Ava. What do you want?”

It's when Sara’s mouth reaches her breasts, teasing, applying so little pressure that it has to be frustrating, that Ava finally caves. “Your mouth,” she gasps out. “God, just keep doing that. Your mouth.”

Sara smiles against Ava's skin. “That's all you had to say.”

She kisses down further, further, until she reaches the hem of Ava’s underwear, teasing it slightly with her teeth. And then Ava’s grabbing Sara’s wrist, sitting up on her elbows, her face worried. “I'm probably going to be… quick. I haven't— I haven't done this in a while.”

“No, I know,” Sara says, laying another kiss on the front of the fabric. “I know. It's okay. Just relax, Aves. Just relax.”

And Ava does, her head hitting the pillow, the tension disappearing from her limbs. She goes soft, not resisting as Sara pulls her underwear down. When it's gone, when Ava's finally spread out in front of her, Sara can't help but pause for a second.

“You're so beautiful. You're so— you're so much. I can’t— God.” Sara wonders if she’s always going to be speechless in front of Ava, if one day, she’ll regain some of the cool that she’s almost certain used to be there.

“It’s like you’ve never seen yourself,” Ava mutters, her voice low.

Sara stops her hands where they’ve been moving up Ava’s thighs. “What?”

“I said, it’s like you’ve never”—Ava’s voice cuts off as Sara’s fingers tease the join of her legs— “seen yourself. You’re some sort of fucking… sculpted fucking… goddess.”

Laughing lightly, Sara moves her fingers higher. “Nothing compared to you, Ava. Nothing compared to you.”

Ava starts to disagree, saying something about how hard it’s been not to just give in, like Sara hasn’t had the exact same dilemma—but she cuts off when Sara gets her mouth on her. Her words disappear into a shout, an “Oh!” that sends shivers through Sara’s body. Her body tenses for a second and then relaxes back until it’s nothing but liquid, pliable under Sara’s hands.

Sara works in deeper—but still goes softly, carefully, because this is a first time, and she doesn’t know what Ava likes, how Ava likes it—and Ava is responsive. Wonderfully responsive. Making sounds and bucking up, her hands tangled in Sara’s hair, holding her tight as Sara works her tongue against her and into her. Her legs shake. Her toes curl against Sara’s back. Her fingers grip tighter onto Sara’s scalp with every passing second. When she manages to get words out, they're nothing but Sara’s name, mixed in with broken pleas for her not to stop, to keep going, _please,_  and, okay, those stilted attempts at words win for the best sound Sara has ever heard.

Hearing Ava break like this, break under Sara's _tongue_ , is the most wonderful thing.

From the way Ava is reacting, falling deeper and deeper into herself with hardly any effort from Sara, Sara is pretty sure that Ava’s going to be proven right, that she’s not going to take long—and, as it turns out, she doesn’t (not that Sara cares. She's happy to work into Ava for as long or as short a time as it takes to make Ava feel good. That's all she wants.) Sara’s been going minutes when Ava tenses up again, whimpers escaping from her mouth. She comes with another shout—a shout that turns into a moan as Sara keeps going, long and drawn out and sending need straight to Sara’s centre. Her legs clamp around Sara’s head, a wave rippling through her.

Her eyes are closed. She looks blissed out. She looks perfect. More than perfect. Her hair is spread out against the pillow, a blonde halo around her head. Her chest is flushed. Her breathing is heavy.

Sara has never seen anything better than Ava, completely and utterly undone under her mouth.

She brings Ava down, careful movements of her tongue guiding her through it, drawing out as many tiny sounds as she can, until Ava is completely still underneath her, completely spent.

When she eventually opens her eyes, Sara has moved up the bed, is pressed up on her elbow, looking down at her. Sara can’t help the soft expression she knows is plastered on her face, because all she can feel right now is raw affection. Ava falling apart underneath her was so perfect, so beautiful, that all she can do is smile at her.

Ava smiles back, her expression still a little lazy. “I love you,” Ava says, intertwining their fingers. “I love you so much. So much.” Ava moves to kiss her. Sara pulls away, unsure of Ava’s boundaries, but Ava stops her. “Hey. No. Kiss me.”

Sara leans down, her hands finding Ava’s cheeks, and does. It’s Ava that works her mouth open, tasting herself on Sara’s tongue. Sara sinks into it, giving herself over to the sensation of being kissed, of Ava’s tongue teasing her lips, slipping between. She’s not thinking about anything else but her hands on Ava’s face, her lips on Ava’s lips, and it is only when the kiss ends that Sara realises that Ava has flipped them, carefully, has manoeuvred herself on top of Sara, that her weight is pressing down in a way that is comforting more than anything.

“Hey,” Ava says, smiling softly.

“Hey.”

“What do you want?” Ava asks, echoing Sara’s question from before.

Sara, unlike Ava, doesn’t hesitate. She knows what she wants. “Your fingers. I want to feel you inside me.” In truth, she’s wanted that for months, had been thinking about Ava and her _fingers_ ever since she’d gotten minutes away from having them inside her in September. “Please, Ava.” Ava just nods, ducking her head, but not before Sara sees her cheeks tinge pink. She smiles, pulling Ava’s face back down, kissing her, before whispering. “Was that too much? I can tone it down.”

“No.” Ava shakes her head, her hair falling around her face in perfect waves. “I’m just… I’m just not used to hearing things like that. Not used to… _doing_ anything like this. I’m out of practice. It’s been… a while”

Sara smirks, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair back into place, before finding Ava’s hand, running her fingers over her knuckles, bringing it up to press a kiss to the skin there, and then guiding it downwards. “Practice makes perfect.”

Ava pulls off Sara’s underwear with one hand, helping to lift her hips with the other, and then her fingers are circling, teasing, sweeping through Sara’s centre in a way that’s deliciously too much and not enough at the same time. She stays like for thirty seconds, just moving her fingers, testing. It’s frustrating for Sara, not getting what she wants, but she loves it as well. Loves feeling Ava there, feeling her fingertip move carefully, feeling her eyes watching Sara. Loves it and hates it in equal measures.

Eventually, though, Ava's fingers ease inside, and Sara bucks, overwhelmed, already feeling close, just from two fingers and the way Ava is still staring at her. And then Ava leans down, kisses her, her fingers start to move, and Sara almost shatters.

She’s nothing but feeling anymore, every nerve inside of her lit on fire. “I love you,” she gasps against Ava’s mouth. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” She can’t believe she waited this long. Can’t believe she tried to force down these feelings for so long, because voicing them feels so good, and Ava’s fingers feel even _better,_ thrusting carefully, and she’s rising up, higher and higher, is getting closer and closer, threatening to tumble over the edge if Ava does anything more.

And then, after a few minutes, a few minutes of working into Sara so tenderly that Sara feels like she’s going to melt, Ava does. She keeps moving her fingers in a steady rhythm, eases Sara’s mouth open, licking inside—but then also presses her thumb to Sara’s clit, and Sara falls, crying out, the sound swallowed by Ava’s mouth. She tenses around Ava’s fingers, and everything feels so _good_. A shiver runs through her body, heightening the pleasure. She sees stars, feels stars underneath her skin.

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she's never been one to cry after sex, but she's feeling so much of _everything_ that all normality is thrown out the window. She hasn’t felt like this after sex in years. Hasn’t had sex with someone she’s been in _love_ with for years. She couldn’t have been prepared for how good this feels, couldn’t have been prepared for how good Ava is _making_ her feel, not if she’d been preparing for a thousand years.

“Hey,” Ava whispers. “It's okay. I got you. I got you, Sara.” She moves a thumb to wipe at Sara’s lashline, gathering up the droplets forming. It seems like all she’s done today—all _they’ve_ done today, because Ava had been crying as well—is wipe away tears, but, honestly, Sara’s okay with that. She'd always been okay with helping Ava when she was down, had always felt this need to protect her. But now, she’s okay with being vulnerable back, okay with letting Ava look after her, and that in itself is a miracle. “It’s okay.”

Sara believes her. She nods, drowsily, but says nothing, because using her mouth is too much at the moment. Her eyes flutter closed.

She shakes as she comes down, and Ava’s hand moves to her hip, holding her against the bed, keeping her still, steady, secure. Sara has never felt better, never felt more wanted, more safe, than when she opens her eyes again and sees Ava inches away, looking at her with pure, raw, unadulterated love in her eyes.

“I've wanted to do that for months,” Ava admits, and it’s potentially the hottest thing Sara has ever heard.

Sara smiles, bliss tingeing everything. “Was it as good as you imagined?” she asks, just about managing to get the words out, her voice a low drawl.

Ava's fingers go to her face, tilting it so she can lean down and kiss her again. Her lips brush gently against Sara’s. “You were even _better_ than I imagined.”

Sara closes her eyes, the smile spreading. “That's what I like to hear.” She finds Ava’s body with her hands, gripping down tight on Ava’s waist, stroking over the skin there. “And, you know,” she whispers, all bravado disappearing from her voice, “you were… amazing. Extraordinary. I can't believe I got to— I'm so lucky. You're— you're everything, Ava.”

Ava blushes, her head ducking again, but they're so close that the movement just brings them closer. Ava's head tucks under Sara’s chin, and Sara moves her hand up to stroke Ava’s hair, long slow movements that draw out shudders from Ava.

And then her mouth is on Sara’s shoulder, kissing the smooth skin there, working her way back up, along her neck, her jaw, her chin, until she meets Sara’s mouth again.

She bites down just the tiniest bit, and Sara stifles a moan, because all of a sudden she can feel herself wanting more, wanting more even though she's just gotten everything she wanted. Ava registers the sound, pulling back. “Hey. You okay? Was that— too much?”

They don't know each other well enough yet. Ava doesn't know Sara's wanting noises from her slow down ones, and maybe that's a good thing. She shouldn't want more. While Ava can't read all of her tells, she can pass the noise off as something else. Anything else.

“No. No. It's fine. I'm… fine,” she says, trying to keep her voice level, trying not to think about how Ava’s leg is pressing up against hers, how close Ava’s fingers are to giving her relief, if she just moved them a little.

“Sara. You can talk to me.” Ava's fingers brush over Sara’s cheek, her eyes searching Sara’s face for answers. They flick over her, then over her body, and Sara can almost see her register the way Sara’s muscles are still tensed, the way flush is still spread over her skin. “Oh. Darling.” Sara blinks at the name, the softness behind it, as the word only stirs more need inside her. “More?” Ava asks, trailing her fingers closer.

Sara closes her eyes. “I don't want you thinking you weren't— that once wasn't enough. We don't have to do anything else—”

“But you want more?” Ava asks, persistent.

Sara nods, and then Ava’s fingers are finally on her again, moving gently, slowly, carefully, pulling whimpers out of Sara’s mouth, until she tenses, goes silent—and comes, clutching onto Ava, burying her head in Ava’s shoulder, pleasure washing through her.

Ava kisses her, wiping damp hair from her forehead, and Sara is so blissed out that every kiss, every movement of Ava's mouth on her own, feels like the best one. Ava pulls back, examining Sara, her gaze intense. “Is that enough?”

Sara nods, wordless, and Ava’s hand moves down to her cheek, keeping her in place as she moves her mouth near again, until they're almost close enough to touch, but not quite.

Ava tilts her head, her eyes wide, wondering, but still not moving close enough. It's Sara that finally closes the gap, kissing quickly, almost chastely, before pulling back again, a question on her face, a “Can I?” without words, and Ava nods.

Sara presses in, peppers Ava’s lips with kisses, and then leans back, holding herself in place over Ava’s mouth.

Waiting.

Anticipation building. Building and waiting and wanting, until Ava bites her lip, and Sara falls against her.

They stay like that—mouths hovering over each other before giving in each time, kissing and breathing in turn, neither of them wanting or needing to talk, saying everything with their hands and lips and bodies pressed up against each other, just learning and exploring and loving—for half an hour, and then Sara’s stomach rumbles, and Ava breaks away, tipping her head back, laughing.

Sara feels her cheeks colouring, but Ava just rocks back to face her. “Have I been a terrible host? Neglecting to feed you. You've had nothing to eat.” Sara opens her mouth to shoot back an innuendo, stopping as Ava places a finger over a lips. “Don't say it. I'll get you some actual food.”

Ava pulls away, gets out of the bed, and Sara watches her, watches her as she pulls on her underwear and sweater again, as she glances one last time back at Sara before leaving the room.

Sara let's out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, staring up at the ceiling. Everything feels surreal. She can't think about anything, can’t process anything. All she knows is that she's happy. That Ava loves her back, somehow, and that she's _happy._

 

Fifteen minutes later, Ava returns with food, some sort of leftovers that she's heated up. She throws Sara's shirt and underwear at her, before falling back onto the bed, balancing the plates carefully on the sheets.

Sara looks at the clothes in her hands. “Really?”

Ava picks up a fork. “Mhmm. No eating naked.”

“But we can eat in _bed_?” Sara asks, raising an eyebrow—but she pulls the shirt on, wriggles back into her underwear without any further argument, because if Ava doesn't want her eating naked, she's not going to push it, not going to argue about something as trivial as that, when all she wants to do is lay every single inch of her love on Ava.

Handing Sara a plate, Ava nods. “Just this once.” There's a tiny smile on her face, and it grows wider as Sara crosses the bed to get closer to her. Big beds are good, but all Sara wants right now is to be near Ava. To be close, to feel the warmth of her body, to know that they _made it._

When they're done, Ava lays the plates carefully on the floor, ignoring Sara’s teases about not washing them up immediately, and then lets herself be pulled back down against the pillows, laughter escaping her mouth as they hit the sheets together, Sara’s arm around her. As her head hits the pillow, Sara is suddenly aware of how tired she is. “What time is it?” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering.

Ava leans away, looks at the clock on her bedside table. “Half eleven. Are you tired?”

“No,” Sara says, indignant, because she never sleeps this early. Ava raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe a little bit. Are you?”

Ava shrugs with her fingers. “A little bit.”

Sara grins. “I wore you out?”

“I think we wore _each other_ out. But,” she muses, fingers trailing over Sara’s skin. “Just so you know... I can go… longer. I'm just still not used to it.”

“You're perfect like this,” Sara hastens to assure her. “You don't need to go longer.”

“I can, though,” Ava insists, and suddenly thoughts are running through Sara's mind again, thoughts of all the things they can do now, all the things she had locked away inside a box inside of her brain, relegated there because she wasn't _allowed_ to think about, not if she wanted to keep the peace. Now, though... now, she mentally unlocks the box, her eyes roaming over Ava's body, thinking of all the things she wants to do to her. All the ways in which she wants to break her down and be broken down. All the ways in which she wants to show her how much she loves her. She has almost a year of love to get out, and she's going to make sure Ava feels it.

“Okay,” Sara says. She lowers her voice, looking up at Ava through her eyelashes. "We can go longer. I'm going to _really_ wear you out." Ava's eyes darken, minutely. “But not tonight," she finishes.

“No. Tonight I'm tired, too,” Ava says, and her eyes are closing as well.

“You wanna sleep?”

Ava nods, sleepy, then reaches to turn out the light.

“Okay,” Sara says again, and then, despite her desire to stay here forever, moves to pull away, to leave Ava to sleep. She’s still terrified to break this, even after they’ve slept together. She still doesn't want to assume anything, doesn't want to upset careful balance of the best decision she's made all year. Her movements, however, are stopped by Ava’s hand on her arm.

“What are you doing?” Ava has opened her eyes, and they're creased into a confused frown. “Where are you going?” She sounds hurt.

Sara shrugs, trying to look casual. “I didn't know if you'd want me here overnight.”

“Where else would I want you?”

“My room?” Sara suggests.

Ava shakes her head, pulling Sara back down, pulling her close, ducking her head to lay a kiss on Sara’s shoulder. “Nope. You don't have a room anymore.”

Something tenses inside of Sara. “I don't?”

“No. This is your room now. You're not sleeping in there anymore. I want you here. Please— please stop assuming I don’t want you. You always... you always do that, and I can’t… I can’t listen to you feeling like that, not anymore. I want you. I want all of you. I want to _do_ everything with you. Including wake up with you. I want you to assume that I want that,” Ava says, firm, and the feeling disappears, the tension dissipating. “If _you_ want that, that is.”

“Yeah, I want that,” Sara says, softly. “I'm sorry. I didn't know what you'd want, you didn't say—”

“Shh,” Ava says, and it shuts Sara up. “It's okay. Let's just sleep.” She twists them underneath the sheets, pulling them up over them, then draws Sara closer, wrapping her inside her arms, pressing a kiss to Sara’s forehead. “Let's just sleep, darling.”

Sara doesn't know what to do with this. She's never had this, and her body wants to fight the sensation, but she calms the screaming in her mind, breathes, and reminds herself how much she wants this, how much she wants Ava, and she relaxes into Ava’s embrace, the tension leaving her body.

And she feels good.

She feels safe.

Really, truly safe. The realisation spreads through her like she's sunk into warm water. Being with Ava makes her feel safe for the first time in years.

“I love you,” she says, because she needs to say it again, needs to put a voice to the warm feeling in her body, the warm feeling that can only be love, affection for this woman so strong it's threatening to burst out of her chest.

Ava smiles in the darkness. “I love you, too.”

Sara nods, smiles back, settling into Ava’s arms, getting used to the feeling of being held. She closes her eyes, and sleep comes easily, more easily than in months, maybe even years, Ava’s steady breathing, and the feeling of her heartbeat lulling Sara to sleep.

 

When Sara wakes up, for a second, she doesn't know where she is. She doesn't know why she feels warmer than usual, why there is weight on her side.

And then the previous night floods back through her mind, and she realises that the weight on her side is Ava’s arm, still slung around her, resting on her chest. That she's warm because she's pressed against Ava’s front, no space between them.

That she fell asleep in Ava's arms after confessing everything, after kissing her, after having _sex_ with her, and everything is going to change. The realisation takes her breath away, her heart speeding up, and for a second she panics, wants to run away again, and she gets as far as trying to extricate herself before Ava stirs.

“You're freaking out again, aren't you?” Ava murmurs, her eyes not even open. “I could feel your heartbeat,” she offers, in explanation. She gets her arm back around Sara, pulling her back down, this time so that they're facing each other. “Stop freaking out.”

“Easier said than done,” Sara says, quietly.

“Let me do the worrying for both us,” Ava says, her eyes finally opening, wide and sleepy and earnest. “Let me do that, Sara. You don't have to be scared anymore. I've got you, remember?”

“Still?” Sara asks, her tone slightly teasing, pressing in closer, biting her lip, and then memories of last night rush back to her, of Ava whispering that to her while she fell, and she almost wants to cry again.

“Yeah, Sara.” Ava nods. “I've got you.” Her expression is still earnest, and Sara finally completely gives in to that—to Ava _having_ her, keeping her safe, looking out for her like she has for months.

Sara kisses her, her hand stroking over Ava’s cheek as she does. When she pulls back, she holds Ava’s gaze. “So we’re doing this?”

Ava nods again. “Yeah, Sara. We’re doing this. I'm not letting you go. Not again.”

“What exactly _is…_ this?”

Ava shrugs, that same nonchalant flick of her fingers, like she's casual about this, but Sara knows she's just trying to maintain a front for Sara, so she doesn't fall back into panic. “Dating?” she suggests.

Sara shakes her head. “No. I'm not seeing anyone else.”

“Girlfriends?” Ava suggests, her voice low.

It doesn't seem like enough, for what they are, but there's no other word that’s right. “Yeah,” Sara nods. “Yeah. That works.” Then she pauses, looking down. “Is that what we tell Charlotte?”

Ava sighs, the worry that always comes up when she's thinking about her daughter clouding her eyes. “Yeah. I guess,” she says, slowly. “But… maybe we don't tell her… right away. Give us time to settle in.”

Sara can hear the meaning behind the words, and she needs to get them out in the open between them. “Give me time to back out, you mean.”

“No—”

Sara raises an eyebrow.

“Okay. Yes. But not because I think— I don't think you're—” Ava's tripping over her words. “I don't think you're going to run away. I'm just not as great as you think I am,” she eventually finishes.

It's laughable. Ava is exactly as great as Sara thinks she is, and more, and so the thought that Ava thinks Sara might back out because Ava is anything less than extraordinary is ridiculous.

“You're _wonderful_ , Ava, and I'm not going to back out,” Sara says, firm. “But I'm fine waiting. It's a good idea. We need to get used to each other before we involve her.” She pauses, smirking slightly. “The real question is, though, are you going to be able to keep your hands to yourself around your _girlfriend_?”

Ava gasps, indignant. “Obviously. I'm extremely”—she cuts off as Sara pulls her closer, until their mouths are almost touching—“restrained. I'm extremely restrained.”

“You sure?” Sara asks, peppering Ava’s face with kisses, keeping going even while Ava laughs, almost _giggles_ under Sara’s ministrations, the sound ringing through the room. “You don't seem too restrained to me.”

“Yeah,” Ava says, finally stopping Sara’s face with her hands. “Not when you're _attacking_ me with your mouth. You're not playing fair.”

Sara smiles, kisses her, long and deep and slow, her hands tangling in Ava’s hair. When she pulls back, Ava is gasping for breath, her chest heaving, and she chases Sara’s mouth with her own, trying to capture it back, obviously wanting more.

“Not restrained at all,” Sara says, tutting, grinning at the indignance on Ava’s face.

“You're _definitely_ not playing fair,” Ava murmurs, her fingers toying with Sara’s hair. “I know I can be restrained around you, if you're not _seducing_ me.”

“Oh?” Sara tilts her head. “You know that?”

“I pretended I wasn't in love with you for almost a year, didn't I?” Ava says, simply, and Sara’s heart shatters. “I'm used to that. I've got practice at it. I'm a pro. I can manage a little while longer, if I have to.”

“How long do you want to wait?” Sara asks.

Ava worries at her lip, obviously not sure. “I don't know. I don't think there's a guideline for how long you wait with this sort of thing.”

Sara takes a breath, finds Ava’s fingers with her own, and decides to take it out of Ava’s hands. “I want to take you out on Valentine’s Day. So before then. We tell her before then.”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Ava nods, and Sara leans in, kisses her again. “You don't have to pretend much longer, Ava. We don't have to pretend anymore.”

Smiling, Ava runs a finger along Sara’s arm. “I don't think I could last much longer than a month, anyway. Holding back when I didn't think you wanted me was easy… I had to, or I was going to lose you. But now that's not a worry… I don't know...” she trails off.

“What, Ava?” Sara asks.

“I don't know how I'm going to stop people from looking at me and seeing how in love with you I am. I don't know how I'm going to hide that.” Ava's voice is still earnest.

Sara smiles, presses in until her head can rest on Ava's chest. Ava lets out a breath, and then her fingers trail through Sara’s hair.

“One month,” Sara says. “For her. You can do it for her.”

Ava nods. “Yeah. You're right.”

“I'm always right,” Sara says, grinning. Ava shakes her head, almost laughing. “And besides… it’s not like we can't do things in private. You just gotta get all your love out when we’re alone. So, despite the fact that there's really no time to waste, you're already wasting it.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhmm,” Sara replies, pressing her lips together, tilting her head to look up at Ava. “Like, right now, we could be kissing, but we’re not.”

“You think we should be kissing?” Ava asks, a teasing smile on her face.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Ava says, leaning down, pressing her lips lightly to Sara’s. Her hand weaves through Sara's hair, holding her tight. She pulls back too soon. “Like that?”

“Almost. A bit more.”

“You want more?”

Sara can't tear her eyes away from Ava, from the way she's looking at Sara, from the way her eyes are creasing up in a way that can only be love, from the way her hand is still carding through Sara's hair. It's all so much, and Sara can't even voice how much she loves it. She used to be scared of this. Of Ava, but also just of... letting herself go again. Now, though, she's not scared at all.

When she speaks, there's nothing but truth there. “I always want more of you, Ava.” Her voice is raw, vulnerable. “I'm always going to want more.”

“Okay,” Ava says, pulling Sara up until they're face level. “You can have more.”

“Yeah?” Sara asks, hopeful.

“Yeah,” Ava breathes, her fingers splaying on Sara’s cheek, kissing her, and everything feels like it's going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE MADE IT. like last time, i'll do my proper thank yous at the end of the epilogue, but, wow. this was my first attempt at a real slow burn story, and i PROMISE it was more agonising for me to write than it was to read, so when i finally got to writing this chapter it was... such a relief. I JUST LIKE WRITING ABOUT THEM IN LOVE, YOU GUYS
> 
> i hope you like it as much as i do!
> 
> as always, @_avasharpe on twitter/directoravasharpe on tumblr


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, guys. prepare ur tissues, because this is the last bit

Sara stays at the house with them almost the entire month. They tell Charlotte that she’s working a case nearby, and Charlotte doesn’t question it. She obviously likes having Sara around enough, having her there in the morning and then when she comes back from school as well, that she doesn’t think to question what sort of case would last a month, what sort of case Sara would be following up in the smallest and quietest of towns.

Keeping Sara there is a risk, but neither of them want her to leave, neither of them want to have her twenty minutes away any longer, so they decide, quickly, to try to have her stay.

Over the month, she slowly moves in essentials. Not a proper move in. There’ll be time for that once they tell Charlotte. Most of her things are still at her apartment, her apartment that they are still paying rent for, because Sara has more things there than she can sneak into the house without Charlotte noticing. So most of her stuff is still there.

Including the coffee machine.

When they go back to the apartment for the first time, to pack a suitcase for Sara, she points out how useless it is, now. Ava looks at it, shrugs. “I mean. I still have that community outreach thing. We could keep paying the rent? Keep the place?”

Sara shakes her head. “Keep paying the rent for one weekend a month? I don't think so. You just have to admit you went overboard with the gift, babe.”

Ava frowns, indignant. “I didn't know you wouldn't be living on your own anymore! Neither of us did.”

Sara smiles, leans in for a kiss. “Okay. Fair. But we’re not keeping the place. Not once the month is up. You can get a rental when you come into the city.” That's... logical. Wanting to keep the place was a slight panicked gut reaction from Ava, a tiny worry in her mind that Sara might still want to back out, even after the month is up. But then she calms her mind, recognises how invested Sara is, and realises that continuing to pay the rent on an apartment purely because she's scared Sara will want to run away is ridiculous. Sara is examining the machine. “I think Laurel might like it?” she says, eventually.

Considering for a second, Ava nods. “Okay. Yeah. Give it to Laurel.” She's indebted to Laurel, for everything she did for them. A coffee machine is the least she can do.

Back home, Sara dumps the suitcase in the room that they’re pretending is still hers, and she lives out of that, while they acclimatise.

While they settle.

 

It’s easier than Ava thought it would be. It’s like settling into something she already knew how to do. She thought there would be things to learn, things to change, but everything is easy. Probably because she already knew Sara, had spent the past year learning her and trying to pretend that wasn’t what she was doing. Trying to pretend she wasn’t falling deeper and deeper every time Sara turned up at her doorstep.

But then, Sara had been doing the same thing, so they already know everything. There’s nothing to change. Everything changes, but nothing does. Sara had been fitting herself into their family since the day she turned up, and, as a permanent fixture in the house, she just… works.

She only gets better with Charlotte, learning things she hadn’t had the chance to when she was only visiting for days or evenings. She really makes an effort to learn, and Ava gets to watch all of it, her heart growing every time she sees the way that Sara and Charlotte just mesh. A year ago, when she still wasn’t sure what she felt about Sara, when she was still hurting from Charlotte running away with no notice, she would’ve been jealous. But now, she’s just happy, and she only gets happier when Sara looks up, sees her watching, and smiles at her in a way that is dripping with love.

Sure, she’s restraining herself, having to stop herself from being as affectionate as she wants to, from touching Sara at every opportunity she gets, but just seeing Sara look at her that way is enough. More than enough. Knowing how she feels, hearing it in her voice, seeing it in her eyes when she’s speaking to Ava—that’s all Ava needs.

 

And, when Charlotte goes to bed, Sara switches bedrooms. She always knocks, (softly, or the whole charade is over) like Ava might not want her, might have anything to hide. Ava can’t wait until it’s Sara’s bedroom as well, when she can finally stop her from knocking, can finally force her to accept that Ava wants her, that she isn’t ever unwelcome.

She always looks beautiful, but looks even more so in the evenings, when she’s removed all the layers she puts up for the rest of the world, and is just Sara, Ava’s girlfriend, with loose hair and ratty pyjamas, and that same blissed out smile on her face, just at the sight of Ava.

When Sara kisses her—usually for the first time since the morning, unless Charlotte was out somewhere in the evening—every kiss feels like the first time, careful fingers moving over Ava’s skin. Sara always treats her a little like she’s breakable, and Ava’s okay with that. Sometimes she feels like she is. They’re both dancing a careful game, worries always present, worries that they’ve talked through but that still tinge their actions with anxiousness, make them take extra care.

There’s so much riding on this, so they’re both careful, but, the truth is, there’s nothing to worry about. There are a few arguments, but they’re resolved, in quiet voices, both of them trying to fix things quickly, because they only get a limited amount of time to be alone together, and neither of them want to be arguing.

But, most of the time, things are easy. Things flow. Sara doesn’t stop looking at Ava in that way, that way that makes Ava feel safer than she has in years, doesn’t stop loving her and kissing her and _wanting_ her.

Wanting her so much, so much more than her ex ever had. So much more than anyone ever had, really. Ava isn’t going to turn that down, even if they have to be quiet, if more than once Sara has had to slap a hand over Ava’s mouth when Ava got too loud, laughing softly at Ava as she comes down from her high, joking afterwards about all the extra work Ava is making her do—and then losing all ability to be smart, to talk back, when Ava reciprocates.

 

In the days, they get into a routine. A carefully balanced routine, and when the month nears its end, the deadline looming, Ava panics slightly. They’re sitting on their bed, close, because, when they can be, they always want to be. Ava is sat opposite Sara, cross-legged, her hands twisting in her lap, pulling at the hem of her sleeve. “What if we mess things up? What if she hates us being together? Everything’s so _good_ right now. What if telling her ruins everything?”

Sara, as always, is soothing, calming Ava’s fears. “She’s wanted us together since she first found out I was into girls, Aves. It’s going to be okay.” She kneels forward, presses up, kisses Ava lightly, cradling her face. “It’s going to be okay. You just have to breathe.”

Ava’s lungs never obey her own brain, but they follow Sara’s commands just fine. She breathes, immediately relaxing.

“It’s going to be okay, Ava. We’ve come all this way. We’re not stumbling here. We’re not falling here. I’m taking you out for Valentine’s Day, and I’m going to kiss you in public, and everyone’s going to know that you’re mine.”

Sara being possessive shouldn’t affect Ava like it does, but it does. She looks at Sara, her expression straight, trying to keep her voice level. “Yours, huh?”

“You’re all mine,” Sara confirms, her expression hungry. “And everyone’s going to know. But we have to tell—” and then she pauses, looking down, looking away, the confidence immediately gone, from both her expression and her voice. She slumps down, away from Ava, and Ava swears she can hear Sara’s heartbeat speed up. “We have to tell Charlotte first,” she eventually finishes, her voice small.

“Hey,” Ava says, her voice gentle, forcing Sara’s face upwards with her fingers. “Why the pause. What’s wrong?”

Sara shakes her head. “No. It’s nothing. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not nothing,” Ava says, firm. “If it’s bothering you, it’s something.”

“I— I wasn’t thinking. I was about to say…” Sara trails off, her expression pained. She grits her teeth, and starts again. “I was about to say ‘ _our_ daughter,’ okay? I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Sara—”

“I’m sorry. We haven’t— we haven’t talked about what this,” Sara gestures between them, “really means for— for my relationship with her. How I think about her. How she'll think about  _me._ I still never want to— I still don’t ever want you to feel like I’m replacing you. You raised her on your own. You did that. I can’t just… come in and take that all away. She can’t be _ours_ because she's not _mine_ , she’s never going to be _mine_ —”

Sara’s voice is rising, and Ava can see her spiralling, and she just needs her to stop panicking, because hearing those words from Sara’s mouth— _our daughter_ —are making her feel better than she could’ve ever imagined, but Sara thinks it’s a bad thing and—

“Sara. Stop. She’s yours.”

“What?” Sara stops on command, the word coming out as a breath.

“She’s yours,” Ava repeats, a smile on her face, her fingers on Sara’s cheeks. “And she’s mine. She’s— fucking _hell_ , Sara, she’s ours,” she says, pressing in, tipping her head back, kissing her, hard. She moves her hands to tangle in Sara’s hair, dragging her fingertips across Sara’s scalp, because it’s her turn to feel possessive. When she pulls back, she’s mumbling words against Sara’s lips. “She’s ours. Say it again. She’s ours. I need to hear you say it again. Please, Sara.”

So Sara does, a wide, unrestrained smile growing on her face, repeating it, kissing Ava over and over again. “Ours. She’s ours.”

And, just like that, Ava feels ready to tell Charlotte. It’s like that’s the final piece of the puzzle that had been waiting to be put into place—acknowledging that Sara is no longer the outsider, that she can lay a claim to Charlotte without taking away from Ava’s. It’s like they both needed that, in order to feel okay. To feel ready.

Right before they fall asleep, Sara looks at Ava. “Tomorrow?” she asks, and Ava nods. “You want to practice how we’re going to do it?”

Ava shakes her head. “No. We’ll do it right however we do it.”

Sara smiles against Ava’s skin. “Yeah. You’re right. You’re always right,” she says, relaxing, like she always does, when Ava’s arm envelops her.

 

The next evening, Sara is curled up on the couch. She looks at home. That’s all Ava’s ever wanted. To have her fit in here, to have her _feel_ like she fits in. Charlotte is upstairs, doing homework. When she comes down, they’re telling her. That’s what they decided.

Ava sits down next to Sara, kisses her, briefly. Sara smiles at her, toys with Ava’s hair. “We’ve got this, Aves. We’ve got this. It’s going to be okay.” She always knows exactly what to say, even when Ava hasn't said anything. Knows what words Ava needs to hear.

Nodding, Ava lets herself be drawn into another kiss. It’s longer and a little more passionate, the sort of kiss they wouldn’t usually dare do where Charlotte could see, but they’re both giddy, Ava more so than Sara, and Sara knows that nothing calms her down quite like her lips on Ava’s. “It’s going to be okay,” Sara repeats, whispering it against Ava’s lips. “She’s going to be fine with it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. It’s going to be fine.” Ava echoes it back, runs those words through her mind as she goes back into the kitchen, as she attempts to make dinner. After forty-five minutes, she gives up, just settles down on the couch next to Sara, leaving a space for Charlotte between them. Sara’s watching some TV show. Ava stares at the TV screen, but she’s not registering anything.

Her fingers twist in her lap. Sara obviously notices, because she reaches out across the space between them, holding Ava’s hand tight, reassuring Ava. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even take her eyes off the television.

She doesn’t need to. She just knows what to do.

Charlotte wanders downstairs an hour later. Ava lets go of Sara’s hand, calls her through. “Honey? Can you come in here? We need to talk to you.” Sara switches off the TV. The room suddenly seems dark.

When Charlotte appears, her expression is quizzical. “About?”

“Can you sit down?” Ava asks, patting the space between them on the sofa. “We need to tell you something.”

Charlotte sits down, her gaze darting between them. “Is it something bad?” she asks. “Is Sara leaving? Is the case over?” The way she asks that makes Ava surer than ever that telling her is the right decision. She doesn’t want Sara to leave.

“No, Lottie, it’s not something bad,” Ava reassures her. “Is it?” she prompts Sara.

Sara blinks, then says what Ava needs to with no hesitation, reassuring Charlotte just as well as she is always able to reassure Ava. “No. It’s not. It’s good. Promise. I think you’ll like it,” she says.

Charlotte’s eyes are still flicking between them, and then she seems to realise something. “Oh,” she says, a smile on her face, the worried expression immediately sliding away, replaced by something hopeful.

“Oh?” Ava echoes, frowning.

Charlotte leans back against the cushions. “Are you guys finally telling me that you two are together?”

Ava can’t say anything, but Sara is grinning, an almost relieved look on her face. She glances at Ava, and Ava nods, a tiny nod, and that’s all Sara needs to know what to say, to know that she’s okay to confirm it. “Yeah, kid, we are.” She looks at Ava, finds her hand, and Ava is still too shocked to do anything, to think more about the fact that this is the first affection they’re ever showing in front of Charlotte. All she can do is stare at her daughter. “I think she was a couple steps ahead of us, Aves.”

Charlotte looks almost smug. “I’ve been waiting for you guys to tell me for months.”

Ava frowns again. “Wait. Months? It’s only been— it’s only been a month. We weren’t together before then.”

“Oh.” Charlotte says, shrugging. “I guess I just assumed. You guys have been weird since September. So I dropped all those hints, and I thought maybe something had finally happened at Christmas. You guys were like… _extra_ weird at Christmas.” She’s saying everything so casually, so nonchalantly, like both of them hadn’t been agonising over this for months. Sara had mentioned that she’d thought Charlotte had maybe been trying something with her suggestions for gifts, and, now, it seems clear that she had been. “I didn’t want to push, though, because I figured you’d tell me eventually.”

Ava can feel her eyes going wide. They hadn’t given her nearly enough credit for what she’d notice. “We, uh, we took a while to figure things out, baby, but we got there. Things—” she looks at Sara, trying to figure out how to word it. “Things _were_ weird for a while, while we… while we got through a few things. But we’ve uh, we’ve only been together for a month.”

“So that’s why you tried to move Sara in without me noticing? And why Sara’s been sneaking into your bedroom every evening and then sneaking out every morning for the past month?” Charlotte asks, and Sara actually laughs, her hand going to Charlotte’s head, ruffling the hair there.

Ava can feel her cheeks colouring, and she tries to calm her breathing. Over Charlotte’s head, Sara mouths, “It’s okay,” at her, and it really does do something for Ava’s heartbeat, just the gentle reassurance slowing it.

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Sara says, looking fondly at Charlotte.

“Nope,” Charlotte says, smug. “You guys were so obvious. Everyone knew.”

“Even… even before?” Ava asks, hesitant. “We weren’t— I wasn’t—”

Charlotte nods. “Everyone’s been waiting. Practically ever since Sara turned up. They saw how you looked at her,” she says, matter of fact, innocent.

“I hardly even liked her at first,” Ava protests, ignoring Sara’s soft laugh at the words.

Charlotte shrugs. “Still. Nobody else could get under your skin like that.”

“I—What do you mean get under my skin? We didn’t even _argue_ in front of you. And nobody in town knows I’m gay!”

Smiling, Charlotte puts a patronizing hand on Ava’s, patting her skin. “Face it, mom. You were obvious. And,” she says, turning to Sara, “really, it’s all thanks to me. Because I told Sara. It’s not like you _were_ going to,” she continues, pointedly. “If I hadn’t told her about Alison, neither of you would’ve known. So it’s all thanks to me.” She still looks incredibly self-satisfied. 

“I think we can take a little bit of credit,” Ava says, dry. “I don’t think it was _entirely_ you, sweetie.”

“Nope, all me.”

“Yeah,” Sara says, laughing. “It was all her, Ava, _obviously_.”

And, in a way, it was. Nothing would’ve happened if Charlotte hadn’t found her. “Okay. You win. It was all you, Lottie,” she says, and Charlotte smiles, before reaching out, snaking her arms around both of them, pulling them closer.

“Does this mean Sara is gonna properly move in?” Charlotte asks.

Ava nods. “Yeah. She’s moving in, baby.” Hers and Sara’s fingers are still intertwined, and Sara’s thumb is stroking slowly across Ava’s palm. “We’re gonna be like… a family.” And then Ava pauses, briefly worried. “You want that, right, honey? You want Sara here?”

Charlotte nods. “Obviously,” she says, like that’s a given. The smile on Sara’s face only grows. “Obviously,” she repeats, and then she’s squishing them closer, closer than they’ve ever all been before, and it feels… right.

Everything finally feels right. Pulled this close, Sara’s face is inches away, her eyes closed, and Ava can’t help but lean slightly closer, press a kiss to her temple. Sara’s eyes open, a slow smile on her face. “You good?” Ava mouths.

Sara nods, her hand going back to Charlotte’s head, smoothing the hair down, leaning down, pressing her mouth to the top of her head, keeping eye contact with Ava the whole time. It’s breathtakingly intimate, and for a second, Ava’s body is covered in shivers. She feels a little like she’s about to cry.

“Yeah,” Sara says, out loud. “I’m good.” She looks at Charlotte, tilting her head to look right at her. “You good, Charlotte?”

Charlotte nods, her arms tightening around both of them.

And then Sara looks back at Ava, her expression soft. She reaches out over Charlotte’s head, tucks a piece of hair behind Ava’s ear. “ _You_ good?”

“Yeah,” Ava says, and she means it with every part of her. She looks at Charlotte, curled into Sara, looking perfectly at home with her there. And then she looks at Sara—at the way she’s so different to the angry woman who turned up on her doorstep a year ago with Charlotte in tow, the angry woman who had immediately intrigued Ava, who she’d denied feelings for for a year, who she’s now irrevocably in love with, who loves her _back_ —and she’s completely and utterly and undeniably good. “Yeah, I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andddd wow. that's it! hope you liked the slightly sneaky ava pov, i felt like i had to get her in SOMEWHERE. i hope you don't feel TOO robbed of hearing sara's thoughts in this last bit haha.
> 
> okay. thank you time.
> 
> firstly, i want to say that after the smith au i was in a bad place. i didn't think i'd ever be able to write anything of that length again, didn't think i'd be able to get that sort of reaction again. and then this story fell into my lap, and i couldn't stop writing and writing until it became the 60k story you just finished reading. but i didn't know how it would be responded to, didn't know if people would like it as much as the other au, so, before i say anything else, thank you to everyone who believed in my writing enough to make me realise that i was, in fact, capable of replicating the success of the smith au. that i can, in fact do this.
> 
> thank you to everyone who was supportive of me on twitter while i wrote this, even though most of you didn't know what it was. i'm always going to write multi-chapters before hand, but it's hard, because you haven't got feedback to keep you going as you write, and this was ESPECIALLY hard because i'm a hopeless romantic who loves writing romance and kissing so like... writing those first four chapters where there is NO KISSING WHATSOEVER was very hard. so i really appreciate people cheering me on while i was writing.
> 
> thank you to everyone who has ever commented, kudos'd, bookmarked, subscribed (this fic has /177/ subscribers, which is more than even the smith au. i'm so flattered so many people wanted to know when it was updated!) thank you to everyone who has ever sent me an ask about this, who has ever reblogged or retweeted or liked my posts about it on tumblr or twitter.
> 
> thank you SO MUCH for falling in love with charlotte like i did. i'd never attempted to make an OC this significant in a fic before, so i was super worried about her, but you all loved and welcomed her so much and i'm just like. wow that's my child right there bc she feels like she's as much mine as she is ava and sara's
> 
> and most of all, thank you for sticking it out to the end. if you're reading this, you read all 65k words of this (hopefully you didn't just skip straight to the end) and for that i commend you, especially since i have never written slow burn before, so i really had NO idea how to plot it or pace it (you can see that from my... slightly weird timeline), and i was very up front that i'd never done slow burn before, so thank you so much for trusting in me and tuning in every week to read it, trusting that it would end well. 
> 
> last time, i left you with the (vague) promise of an epilogue to the epilogue. this time, alas, i have no such thing. i *do* have a vague idea for a little fluffy thing about valentines day, but i haven't written any of that yet, just vaguely thought it out in my head. the smut for the smith au was mostly written by the time the epilogue was posted, so i could be a little more up front about that. all i can say for this fic is - watch this space, but don't get your hopes up haha. take this as the end, for now.
> 
> i also just want to say that, as much as i LOVE this universe, i don't see myself doing any sort of long-form sequel. i can't write fics that are just domestic fluff - i need there to be a plot. but, also, the only plots i know how to do are relationship drama, so the only thing i could make a part two about would be relationship drama - and i absolutely DO NOT want to put any drama in this relationship. they held back because they were worried to hurt charlotte if things went wrong, so i DO NOT want to prove them right by writing a fic where things go wrong, even if it would have a happy ending in the end.
> 
> EDIT: ignore everything in the previous paragraph. The sq au sequel is currently being written. It includes plot but NO relationship drama. Promise. Avalance stay strong through it all.
> 
> so, until the sequel, i'm leaving my wonderful little family here. they're happy, i'm happy, and i hope you guys are too. thank you so so much for loving them as much as i did. i can't thank you guys enough
> 
> as always, @_avasharpe on twitter, directoravasharpe on tumblr 
> 
> ps. (you can't expect any more from this universe soon, but you CAN expect canonverse fics. i have two fics going up on monday evening, to cater to fans of both fluff AND smut, so watch this space)
> 
> pps. SORRY FOR THE GINORMOUS END NOTE I REALLY THOUGHT THIS ONE WOULD BE SMALLER THAN THE SMITH AU ONE


End file.
